Time After Time
by sarrie5
Summary: Time after time they said goodbye wondering which of them would be a final one. It had become their routine, a tradition of sorts. Her trying to go away, cutting the strings loose, and him pulling them back. S6 spoilers, set after Teamwork.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Time After Time  
**Author: **Sarrie5  
**Beta: **hilandmum  
**Rating: **teen  
**Pairings: **House/Cameron (mentions of House/Cuddy, Cameron/Chase)  
**Summary: **House's presence was almost comforting now, maybe because she knew that tomorrow she would be far away from him, from everything. She hadn't expected her goodbye to be so achingly long, but for some ridiculous reason now she didn't want to run from this pain. Not yet.  
**Author note: **I'm no longer watching House, so the story will go AU after Cameron's last episode.  
**Disclaimer: **House and all the characters of the show belong to FOX, David Shore, etc.

Chapter 1.

Cameron was washing her hands when she heard the insistent knocking. Turning off the water, she made a mental note to put on her ring later and hurried to the front door. She wasn't expecting any visitors, so it had to be someone from the hotel service or the airline company. If she was lucky enough, she would eventually fly to Chicago this night despite a strike. But once she left the bathroom and took the first two steps into the room, she froze. The knocking. All too familiar, even though these sounds had ripped the silence of her old apartment only two times in the past six years.

In the past she had hurried to the door, trying to seem calm yet perfectly aware of her increasing pulse and uneven breathing when she had thought of what might happen. Childish hopes for a miracle - her old habits that die hard. The first time she'd had an excuse, a treadmill had worn her out, after all. The second, she hadn't even bothered deluding herself, mindful of the real reason - a dinner, and not just a meal between two colleagues, a date. The third time never came, that very evening she'd met him outside, unwilling to make him climb all the stairs to her apartment. Afterwards, things started going awry. Though not as much as they did of late.

Cameron closed her eyes, hoping that the sounds would miraculously fade away. She didn't have the strength to deal with anyone at the moment, least of all with him. She bit her lip and started counting mentally: one-two-three-four... If fate had any ounce of mercy left for her, in several minutes he would be gone.

"Cameron, open the damn thing up, or I'll wake up the entire hotel."

Obviously, the mercy was reserved for someone else tonight. Cameron walked to the door - she knew better than doubt that he'd fulfill this promise with the trademark flamboyance. She hadn't expected House here of all places. It took all her willpower to go away without looking back, from him, from Chase. Ironically, both her men, previously so different and now more and more alike, seemed equally frozen when she tried to say goodbye. House had been stiff; Robert hadn't even moved a hand. Someone was bound to get hurt, apparently all of them were, only the intensity of pain differed.

"What do you need, House?" At least she could prevent him from coming in: Allison gripped the doorframe leaving the other hand on the handle.

"Oh, peachy. Try again - would you come in, do you fancy a glass of scotch, House?"

"You seem to have taken care of it already."

"So, you want me to wake up people in the other rooms."

"Try it, and I'll call security, or better yet someone else will."

"You're bluffing, but the attempt was impressive."

"What do you need?"

"Let me in."

"No."

"Cameron."

House was scrutinizing her once again, maybe he did have a mental microscope of sorts, letting him see what was behind her exterior, somewhat faded and withered these days.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I'm a genius, remember?"

"Right." The knuckles of her hands must have gone white.

"The airline strike, and only two hotels nearby. Start connecting the dots."

"Whatever."

"Are we going to play 20 questions all night, or will you let me in?"

"Why? I thought we've already said everything"

"Actually, that was you who did all the talking, and my leg is hurting, kinda need to sit down."

"Go back to a bar or home."

"It is hurting. Really." He showed her his cell. "The battery is dead."

Cameron knew better than to buy it at face value. But… she still hated seeing him in pain, no matter how much of her own he caused. Pathetic.

"Come in, I'll call a cab." She let go of the doorframe, knowing all too well that she was conceding. Once again. Her only consolation was that it'd be over tomorrow, once she would be out of his reach. She would manage to cut the strings loose.

"So," he looked around her small hotel room, as she dialed the number and started talking with an operator, "here come the last goodbyes," he pointed the cane at her cases standing hear the wall. "Where are the tears of desperation? Have I missed it all?"

She closed her phone.

"What are you really doing here?"

"Wanted you to bring me a Bulls cap on the way back."

"Try asking someone else, it'll take less time."

He looked at her for a few seconds and then smirked.

"Smart girl."

"Why did you come?"

House seemed pensive for a moment, and then poked at her suitcase again.

"So that's it? You'd just drop this rightful indignation on everyone and leave, untainted and saintly?"

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" Cameron could tell he was searching for an answer, something was amiss in the puzzle ha had solved long ago, and it irritated him. That was one of the reasons for his visit, not the only one, of course, with House things were never that simple. "That's what bugs you, not that I'm leaving, not what Chase and you've done."

"What bugs me is Wilson's snoring I hear through the wall, but you can't help with that."

"Stop it, House!"

"It's you who needs to stop! Always lecturing others on right and wrong, always trying to fix everything. The world doesn't work that way, you know? People do what they think is necessary, no matter whether it corresponds to your moral principles or not. Stop running and face it!"

"Face what? How you bend rules just for the hell of it? How Chase and the others concede to you? How you risk a patient's life because of a stupid game?" Cameron folded her arms on her chest as she took a breath to calm down. Then she went on, her voice barely a whisper. "It… sooner or later it'll start crushing down on you. I won't… can't just stand by, looking at this."

Cameron knew that he probably wouldn't understand, would consider her a coward or a quitter, but it was the only way. She had seen her first husband die, it had hurt like hell, but she couldn't fight nature, no matter how much she wanted to. She survived it, eventually. But seeing Robert destroy himself, witnessing House play his power-games, more twisted that ever… She would try to fight it and fail miserably all over again, she already had - Robert's choice made it painfully obvious. But if she stayed, she would still try, carrying on a Don Quixote-like attempt to make them understand, until… She feared that moment – the one that would break even her.

"Ever an optimist."

"Whatever. Your taxi will be here in twenty minutes or so, wait in the lobby."

House ignored her and limped to the bed, leaning heavily on his cane.

"You should've taken a room with a couch, and a TV."

Airline companies rarely offer big rooms if a flight is cancelled, her one had only a tiny bedroom and a shower.

"I wasn't expecting any…" Cameron stopped before she started offering excuses for nothing. "Nice try." She answered as he sat on the bed, twisting the cane in his fingers. "Still doesn't answer the question what are you doing here."

'Four little ducklings went out to sea…' He started imitating the tune of a nursing rhyme.

"Little Soldiers, House, and there were ten at first."

"Hush! 'One swam away and then there were three.' So, I've got three out of four, not that bad, huh?"

"You know what the ending is, right?"

"And then there were none?" Been there, done that, not scared."

"Right, you'll manage."

"Back to the point. One out of four acts self-righteous, throws the "there is no way back for you" crap and walks away. Once again." He looked at her expectantly; apparently, the words she'd told him earlier in his office didn't suffice as an explanation, or he didn't want them to.

"Until now I… used to believe you saw the right and wrong. You used to push things, to bend rules too much, but I knew that in the end you'd return to some balance. Lives mattered for you, and that mattered for me."

"I've never had noble motives. A hero-worship gone wrong."

"That's what fits, right?"

She knew all too well where he was going with this impromptu differential, vividly remembering the last one of five years ago.

"Would it make a difference, if you knew about Chase?"

Finally. The question she'd been dreading to ask herself. She averted her eyes.

"I would have…" Honestly, she didn't know how to finish the sentence. "We could've talked." A lame comeback, even she felt it.

"Sure, and after your brainwashing he would've run to the police. Is that what you want?"

"I would never…"

"Ouch, wrong one. If you knew, you wouldn't feel any differently . You resent what he did, you'd just start nagging him earlier." He leaned his chin on the handle of his cane.

"Robert needed support, still needs it. I wanted to help… feared that one day he'd become like you, treating lives like nothing but puzzles. But I was too late, once again." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to block the memories.

"You also hated the guy, by the way. Remember all your "he doesn't deserve treatment" rants?"

Cameron shook her head; she doubted that House would understand how the sense of duty had outweighed her resentment to Diabala, however conflicting it may have been.

"I do. You know what else I remember? That my husband lied to me, he schemed, manipulated and you were Ok with this. All of you were."

"So now it's the matter of self-esteem?"

"It wasn't about me, House." She had a feeling that they were speaking different languages. Whatever she said, whatever she tried to explain, he would twist, turn until it fitted perfectly into his own picture. But she still tried. "It was about our marriage, the people I trusted… But that's exactly what you don't get."

"Yeah, Chase lied, a bad boy he is. Time to make up and move on. But that's the catch. You can't, never will. Right?"

"Is that what you told Robert?" She needed to ask even if he wouldn't say anything definitive. For she'd imagined too many answers on her own. Possibilities can be a torture.

"Am I right?"

"You don't need my answer, never had."

Even if something in his puzzle didn't fit now, he would make the pieces connect later; after all, she wouldn't be there to prove him wrong. He didn't need her answer during their date, ready and willing to put a label on her. Had she wanted to fix him? He wouldn't understand that healing and fixing were two different things. The former was mutual. She did want to make him a bit more content with his life. Not a purely altruistic desire, not a missionary-complex kind of need, but a very selfish one. She'd needed, wanted all of him: his brilliance, irony, ability to read people that scared and fascinated her, his eyes, gestures. She had simply needed him, with the flaws that mirrored her own, twisting them, turning them upside-down.

"Humor me." His voice pulled Cameron out of her thoughts.

"Why are you here?" she signed. "Is it a final blow? Want to make me feel even worse? Well, it's hardly possible. You've always liked a challenge, but I don't want to be the one, not now."

Cameron felt the headache building. It had become her loyal friend for the past month or so. The month too absurd, twisted and screwed to find the reality in this distortion. Once all events, like odd touches on impressionist's paintings had finally fallen into place, once she'd stepped back and made out the whole picture – she'd lost it. Maybe she shouldn't have searched in the first place.

"You said you loved me."

"Yes and that I was an idiot for doing it."

"You were, indeed."

Indeed. Loved. Such a damn cliché, it was. The answer wasn't that simple, never had been. Love, need, fascination, a grain of fear, desire, empathy – she didn't know what was more powerful. Throughout these years she had witnessed his highs and lows, yet she still cared, more than she should have had. It was much easier to pretend indifference than actually be. Although, apparently she had sucked even at pretending: suspicious glances from Robert and Cuddy had rubbed it in her face more than once.

Loved. Not a rosy or starry-eyed kind of love. He had done a great job at shattering her illusions, but the feelings remained. Neither all-absorbing nor blinding. The symptoms had changed, had become less evident, but the illness was there; it had simply progressed to another stage. Who knew how many of them were still in store for her.

Before she could deliver any comeback, he pulled a medium-sized bottle of scotch from his coat pocket.

"Want some? You know, we'll spill tears for your ruined life and all." Against her better judgment, she also sat, but on the floor, leaning her back on the bed.

"And what's your reason for drinking?" Cameron bit her lip before "Saw Cuddy with the other guy?" slipped. She wouldn't hit the sore spot, couldn't, even now.

House remained silent, not bothering to look for a glass, he took a gulp and gave the bottle to her. She took a small sip, scotch was never her favorite drink, but it would do. Strange, though, House's presence was almost comforting now, maybe because she knew that tomorrow she would be far away from him, from everything. She wouldn't have to face him, to fight him, to strive to impress him, to care for him. Distance should help, eventually. She hadn't expected her goodbye to be so achingly long, but for some ridiculous reason now she didn't want to run from this pain. Not yet.

"So how was the conference?"

"Trying small talk?"

Cameron shrugged her shoulders.

"It was… irritating, for the most part, though sometimes fun." House turned away, but she caught the wistful look in his eyes. Something must have happened. But she shouldn't care. Really shouldn't. Out of habit, she rubbed her ring-finger that seemed strikingly bare without her wedding band, which was currently resting on a shelf in the bathroom. Cameron wondered whether she'd have to get used to this feeling.

"We had a study in our new apartment." The thought had been tormenting her as she was going through the rooms at their flat, packing her things for the flight, but until now she didn't have anyone to voice it to. Not that House was the best confidant.

"My kids even read? A shocker." He jumped at the opportunity to change the subject.

"You don't get it, do you? We didn't need to rent a new flat, we didn't need the damn study! A bright new future." Cameron smirked sadly as she let her head rest on her hands. "So easy to turn into a nursery if I get pregnant and house-hunting takes longer…"

"Oh, please." He took another gulp. "Spare me the details. All these little happy families are dead boring."

For some reason, the retort lacked his usual sarcasm. Alcohol never did a good job at dulling his wit and desire to mock at others, so he was holding back for some other reason. Once she would have savored the moment, engraved it in her memory, over and over again searching for a veiled meaning. But not today.

"Right, you have never been a fan of other people's happiness."

She jumped a little when he poked her leg with his cane. Cameron looked at him, confused.

"The damn déjà-vu. Just checking." He ran his hand through his hair. Force of habit – not that he needed it these days with the much-shorter haircut.

"I thought you would stand by your man. You used to."

For a moment Cameron wondered whether House meant her late husband or all those times when he'd screwed up and yet she was behind him.

"I would. You know what the catch is? I thought Robert would also stay by me. That's what the whole "hand in hand" is about, right? But seems like… you won," Allison was looking at the wall as she uttered these words. She didn't even have to turn away from House, she simply didn't turn to him like she had been doing a few moments before it. "You always do, no matter at what cost."

"What're you gonna do?"

"Frankly? No idea."

"Ok, but I still want my Bulls cap."

"I'll send it to you."

"And you owe me naked pictures."

Cameron couldn't help giggling, but she blamed it on the scotch.

"Sorry, House, but Wilson's been a better boy, so he gets them."

"Damn."

"I should hate you right now."

"But you don't."

"I should." Barely a whisper. An unspoken "but" was almost tangible. Cameron finally turned to face him, afraid to see him mocking at her admission. But House was uncharacteristically serious, looking at her with the intensity that hadn't been there since his return from Mayfield or maybe since their brief encounter in his office. She couldn't be sure about the last: overwhelmed with too many conflicting emotions, prevailing of which was the bitter sense of loss, Cameron couldn't fully take in his gaze then.

The ringing of the phone broke the silence. Or the spell, their eternal almost something and might have been. Cameron stood up to answer it, not knowing whether to be grateful or sorry for the interruption. At least it gave her time to compose herself.

"The cab's here." Hanging up the receiver, she turned to him, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Guess the party is over then." He stood up, leaning on the cane, and made several steps to the door, not looking at her.

"Just…" Cameron uttered before even realizing it. One last time. A Don Quixote, indeed. "House. Please, just don't go any further, and… don't lead them there."

"Chase will be sulking, and that's my privilege, by the way."

"I hope… he'll get over it." Cameron said, leaning on the doorframe and watching him stand near the door making no move to open it.

"Will you?"

"Take care, House." Cameron put her hand on the handle, intending to open it and finally finish this surreal evening, maybe it was her time to start running.

"Will you?" House firmly took her wrist and moved her hand from the handle, piercing Cameron with his eyes.

"Wish I knew." Cameron felt her voice shudder, as she tried to look away. Anywhere but at him, anywhere but at his thumb lightly caressing her wrist.

"It won't solve anything, you know." He looked at her suitcase.

"I can't..."

"Try, but you'll find out that I'm right. As always."

"About diagnoses. Not about people."

A "rarely about me" that was running through her mind was left unsaid.

"We'll check it when you come back. I might even buy scotch." He finally let go of her wrist and opened the door.

"Just so you know, I prefer wine. Goodbye, House." Cameron said as she closed the door behind him.

***

_Just a sidenote about one reference in the fic._

"Ten Little Soldiers" – a nursery rhyme, also used in Agatha Christie's detective "And Then There Were None"

Ten little Soldier boys went out to dine;  
One choked his little self and then there were nine.

Nine little Soldier boys sat up very late;  
One overslept himself and then there were eight.

Eight little Soldier boys traveling in Devon;  
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.

Seven little Soldier boys chopping up sticks;  
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.

Six little Soldier boys playing with a hive;  
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.

Five little Soldier boys going in for law;  
One got in Chancery and then there were four.

Four little Soldier boys going out to sea;  
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

Three little Soldier boys walking in the zoo;  
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

Two Little Soldier boys sitting in the sun;  
One got frizzled up and then there was one.

One little Soldier boy left all alone;  
He went out and hanged himself and then there were none.


	2. Chapter 2

**

**Chapter 2**

**

The next morning found Cameron at the airport once again, still four hours early, but she needed a hideaway: staying in that room made her feel claustrophobic. She was afraid to miss the flight, though her mind screamed that it was impossible, since she would be notified beforehand by the hotel service. She feared that House would come back, albeit knew that he wouldn't. And on the top of it, she hoped yet dreaded that Robert would come to… To leave with her? To ask her to stay? To promise to wait for her? To say one more time that he wouldn't run away? Honestly, she couldn't admit even to herself which, if any, of these options would bring her an elusive sense of relief, and which would make her feel trapped, guilty and disappointed altogether.

Cameron sipped coffee, unsuccessfully trying to concentrate on a pointless journal before her, the events of the previous evening and night still fresh on her mind. Her phone buzzed, and she startled, nearly spilling the hot liquid. Then she took out and opened the cell, not knowing whether the sigh that she heaved a moment later, was one of relief or of disappointment.

Just a reminder she had set several weeks ago: "To buy pecans."

She bit her lip. Right. For a Thanksgiving pie. She never liked buying anything at the last moment, especially when it was the holiday season, so she had set a reminder on a few days earlier. Now the short line rubbed it in how screwed up her life had become.

The next moments went by in haze. Cameron felt numb, as if it was a stranger passing by who suddenly rose from the bench and walked to the schedule screen to check the time of the flight. It was a stranger who stood in the hall, watching people hug each other saying goodbye or greeting. It was a stranger who hurried to the ticket counter, asking for tickets for the next flight to Boston, which by some miracle was to take off in two hours.

Fastening her belt, she thought that she would have to call her mother on arrival and say that she wouldn't be coming. She could deflect or evade questions on the phone, had done a great job of it this last week, when she had first promised to move to Chicago with Robert. But she knew all too well what she could expect, should she appear alone.

"_I still cannot understand why Robert isn't coming with you."_

"_Darling, but spending your first Thanksgiving as a family apart… Did you have a fight?" _

"_Everything seemed to be so good, he loves you, Allison." _

She loved her mother, but didn't have strength to hear it now. Not with betrayal and disappointment haunting her, weighing upon and threatening to crush her at any minute. Another escape.

Pity that it wouldn't help to hide from herself, but it would do with the others. Or so she hoped.

**

Cameron had barely closed the door of her hotel room, when the cell started ringing. She tiredly massaged her temple - she had sincerely hoped that her mom would buy an explanation offered just a half an hour earlier, but obviously, she was wrong. But once Cameron glanced at the caller ID, there was no doubt whatsoever that it would be better to answer.

"Next time, prep a witness before a testimony."

"Hi, dad."

"That's not funny, Allison. Your mother called. Turns out, I was selfish enough to invite you for Thanksgiving without checking it up with her first. What's wrong, kid? Are you really in Boston?"

"Yes, I'm staying at a hotel right now."

"Nonsense, you're staying with me."

"But…"

"No buts. I'll be at work till seven."

"Then I'll come this evening."

**

"Hi there." Her father greeted her, opening the door.

"Hi." For the first time in a while Cameron's smile wasn't forced, at least, not entirely.

Allison smelled the thin scent of the cigarette smoke on her dad's shirt when she hugged him.

"A tough day?" She asked as he took her suitcase from her and started carrying it to a guest room.

"Well…" From the tone of his voice when he said this single syllable, Cameron knew that something was wrong. "We won, eventually." He said, coming back.

"You don't seem happy."

"Don't try to change the topic, young lady. You know it won't work with me."

"But you really seem concerned."

"I am, but right now I've got more pressing issues to deal with, like what's going on with you."

"Couldn't I just come by?"

"A few days before Thanksgiving, which you should be spending with Robert? Don't get me wrong, kid, I'm happy to see you, but…"

"You know me too well…"

"I'm still you father, right?"

Her dad gestured to the sitting room and went to the kitchen to bring them tea.

Cameron sat on the sofa and, while making herself comfortable, noticed a wedding photo on the table. She took the framed picture, sliding her fingers along the cold glass surface. It was a funny feeling: seeing herself, still somewhat scared, yet hoping and smiling, as she was going down the aisle that day. Alone. A tingle of offense was childish, utterly selfish, but she couldn't help herself.

"I wished you were there, like the first time." Cameron said as her dad put a steaming cup in front of her.

"Then I was the only family, this time you had everyone else."

"But I missed you."

"Allison, we've been through this before. Sorry, but I… couldn't leave in the middle of the hearings. Plus, we're still taking turns with your mom. So I'll be back for your next wedding, if you ever have it, of course".

She missed this, jokes without too much cynicism – a rare occurrence at Princeton these days.

"I'm not sure yet where this marriage is going."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later." Cameron took the cup with both hands, it was still too hot, but anyway better than succumbing to a sudden need to dig her nails into her palms.

"I fear that inability to stay put in a relationship runs in the family."

"You won't let me drop the topic?"

"I do know you well, Allison. Something is bothering you, and it isn't just a quarrel between newlyweds."

"I need to sort it out on my own, and then I'll tell you, Ok?"

"Just… Be careful, self-analyzing can drive you mad, believe me, been there, done that."

"It's too complicated."

"All relationships usually are."

"It's…" She did want to talk to someone who would understand, listen without pushing too much or judging. That's why she flew to Boston in the first place. But now, sitting on the familiar sofa with her father, she started questioning her decision. Some secrets weren't hers to tell, no matter how much she wanted to, looking for advice and guidance. Against all logical reasoning, a childish fear to disappoint suddenly gripped her, making her stomach tie in knots.

"There're too many factors. It isn't only about me and Robert. "

"Then leave them out. What's the bottom line?"

"I've lost him."

"Aren't you overreacting?"

"No…" Cameron sighed in frustration, realizing that if she wanted to talk, she had to actually open up. "It started with our job, I guess. We had a… problem with a tough case, really tough one. Then Robert began shutting me out, and I couldn't understand why. You know, I even suspected an affair."

"You would." Her dad looked at his folded arms. Unwillingly stirring up the memories of long ago, she went on.

"Anyway, I knew something was wrong."

Some things were better left unsaid, like how Robert started drinking or didn't come home at nights, how she feared to smell another woman's perfume on him. And most of all - how profoundly devastating it had been to see him suffer and not know how to help.

"But I thought that it'd get better. Then, sometime later, I found out the reason. He didn't cheat on me." Cameron wanted to smirk at the irony, but the corners of her mount went down instead. "At least, not in this sense. But I felt… hurt, disappointed. Just… the Robert I married would've never done it."

"And the Robert you'd known before you started dating?"

"Sorry?"

"Before you started dating, he'd never been your favorite guy, Allison. That's why I was surprised when you dropped the news on me." Her dad pointed at the picture Cameron had been holing a little while ago.

"I don't know, I never thought about it that way."

"Ok. What happened next?"

"I wanted us to start over, somewhere away from Princeton. But I… guess I failed to convince him that I'd understand. He didn't trust me with this. House…"

Her dad was the only one who knew what had happened on the date, or at least he had gotten a pretty good idea, when she had called in the middle of the night, her voice wobbling tremulously as she had been whispering something about delusions and fixing.

"Well, he also thought that I wouldn't forgive Robert."

"And a simple majority wins." Cameron was grateful for being spared from the necessity to retell the whole going-away part.

"Thought you'd call it a reasonable doubt."

"Hey, you still remember something." Her dad winked at her, but in striking contrast with the careless gesture, his next words were much more serious. "Was the doubt reasonable?"

"I… I still think it wasn't, not entirely."

"Not entirely?"

"Maybe I should have tried harder. Robert didn't trust me; it means that somewhere, somehow I made a mistake."

"Not everything is your fault, you know."

"We had problems before, but somehow we did manage to solve them. But I don't know where we go from here…"

"Look at me. I'm not trying to find excuses for you and Robert, but Allison, no one is perfect. Mistakes will happen. I know you hate compromises, but… Think about what you really want. If there is no right decision, try to find the one that would cause the least damage."

"Can't think of anything right now."

"Then take your time."

Allison took the first gulp of the already cold tea. It was time to change the topic, though what she was going to say next wouldn't be any easier. An evening of revelations, the second in row.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Her father seemed surprised, but she wanted to patch an old split in their relationships. The one created by her ethical dilemmas, the thin line between morally right and wrong which she'd so vigorously observed. Cameron hadn't changed her opinion, if anything, things that had happened only strengthened it. But the Dibala case taught her that sometimes morals and duty could collide, leaving no chance to choose a path that would embrace both.

"Sometimes… I used to judge you, for defending people who, I thought, didn't deserve it..."

"We've been through this before." Her dad tiredly looked at her. There was a reason why they tried to never discuss work - it had never ended up well. "That's not about me and my opinion, that's about duty. Whether I like it, or not."

"Please, let me finish. I didn't understand it. Until now."

"Don't tell me you've got a Booth… "*

"Sort of, but I hate history parallels, you know."

"Right."

"They are never accurate."

"Allison, I hate to ask, but consider it a professional paranoia of the old man. Whatever happened back there, can it have legal consequences?"

She knew she should have never answered the Booth reference, her father must have felt something. Talk of trying to fool a lawyer with more than thirty years of experience.

The question itself startled Cameron while unwarranted, still vivid memories came flooding back to her: Robert refusing her help, he and Foreman presenting the case, apparently altered, as she could guess now, her worries and his dismissive "It's alright". She hoped that the case was over and done away with, for Robert's sake. Her father went on:

"If it was something pertaining to work, if you were involved, in any way, I want to make sure that…it won't affect you."

"I don't think..." Honestly, such a thought hadn't even crossed her mind. For her the whole situation was about Robert's choice and the way it damaged their relationship. House would say that she was in her old caring, self-sacrificing mode: always putting others before herself.

"If I didn't know that you were always hoping for the best, I'd believe you."

"Do you?"

Her dad slightly shook his head.

"You don't want to tell me what happened, I can't force you. But I need to make sure you'd be properly represented in case something comes up. There are a couple of guys I trust…"

Allison noticed that her dad seemed to feel chilly.

"I really hate to talk like this, you know. Are you alright?"

"The witness was coughing without a pause, must've caught a cold. But don't change the topic. Allison, a simple legal representation agreement. No need to tell anything so far, I promise."

"Dad, can we discuss it later?"

"Sure. Meanwhile, start thinking about Thanksgiving dinner, I covered up for you today, so you're cooking."

Cameron smiled.

"Ok. I'll bake a pecan pie."

"Agreed. Now, sorry kid, but I'm going to take something for the flu, and call it a day."

"Thank you. For this evening. I really needed it."

"Call your mom tomorrow; she's worried, you know."

**

Cameron felt lost. Like a child in a dark, unfamiliar building, trying to find the right door. The one leading to light, safety and the precious feeling that everything was going to be alright.

She twisted the ring on her finger. She was still wearing her band, had slipped it back on right after closing the door behind House that night in the hotel.

_I__For better, for worse. /I_

She tried to picture their future together: three kids and a house with a damn white-fence – all these things Robert had once promised. But every time she did, there it was: a thin, almost indiscernible black line, crossing out the whole picture, blurring the colors, distorting the images. He didn't believe, didn't trust her enough, could no longer see right from wrong.

Robert stayed to face his demons, unwilling to simply run away. Right, in these very words. What he didn't understand, however, was that running away was never that simple. He was verging on the brink, and there would be no way back, so what if she thought that running away might help them? She wasn't strong enough to try to bring both Robert and House to come to their senses. And since House had rubbed in her face more than once that he didn't want her to do it for him, she had hoped to help at least Robert. Apparently, he didn't need it - her - either.

Four weeks went by in a haze. The world didn't stop moving, she got up every day, went for a walk, wandering through the parks and streets. The others wouldn't see any difference in her: the same eyes, tired, but still the same; the same lips, albeit the lines in the corners of her month were more pronounced these days; the same blond hair in a messy ponytail – she didn't feel like letting it free. But all she could see was a woman who could neither save nor help her husband. She tried to find the point when it all went wrong. Was it when Dibala was hospitalized? When Robert started avoiding her? When he confessed? Or even earlier?

Robert called once in two weeks or so. Their conversations were strained, to say the least: each topic like a mine-field, one wrong move and everything blows up to pieces. They didn't talk about work, with his actions and her reaction still weighing upon them both, they deflected. There were other topics to avoid - House, Foreman, even Cuddy. Robert asked about her mom and brother and she didn't even tell him that she wasn't in Chicago.

Sometimes Allison could tell that he didn't want to call, but for some twisted, masochistic reason still did. She felt the strain in his voice during each and every conversation. Not that it was unexpected, her own tone was anything but calm and relaxed. The tension was almost suffocating, now more than ever: staying apart, they both had to face their demons on their own. Contrary to what she might have thought, it didn't make things easier, instead she had the sickening feeling that they were drifting away from each other, each wrapped in one's own guilt, remorse and disappointment.

When she tried to convince him that she could understand, that his actions hadn't been entirely his, he would start shutting her out again. What would send a shiver down her spine, nearly causing physical pain, however, was a clear sound of relief when Robert would say goodbye. As if suddenly someone removed a needle that had been stuck in his arm, and he could not help heaving a sigh of gratitude for this release.

Maybe it was one of his ways to punish himself: Robert thought that his suffering would atone for a sin. But she didn't want to become his punishment. Cameron couldn't tell whether Robert's God was vengeful as well as forgiving, but she had no intention whatsoever to become a tool of this divine revenge. For some reason Robert almost wanted her to be. Cameron felt that, consciously or not, he was verging on the edge. Only this time it wasn't about crossing a line of morally right or wrong. He was nearing the brink of self-destructing, and their marriage, or what it had become, threatened to spur the process.

After one of these calls, Cameron asked her father.

"How did you know that it wouldn't work?"

"What exactly?"

"The marriage. With mom, with Laura."

"Different reasons, don't follow my example."

"Please."

"Apart from infidelity?"

"Apart from it."

"Your mom couldn't trust me any longer, had all grounds for it, but…. our life was turning into one big shouting-match. Suspicions can drive you mad even worse than facts, you know."

"And the second time?"

"We wanted different things, but couldn't admit it. Near the end it was suffocating. Self-preservation, hers and mine, won."

It took her two more months to finally come to a decision that would cause the least damage.

*

**Thank you very much for reviews, I appreciate them. **

*

_Historical note: John Booth was Lincoln's assassin; he broke his left leg while fleeing Ford's Theater. Dr. __Samuel Mudd set his leg, and was later tried and convicted of treason for doing it. The author has no intention to bring up or take sides in historical debates on this topic. It was just a comparison; they are never quite accurate, after all. _

_Oh, and by the way, though I enjoy Boston Legal very much, the choice of the city and Cameron's father profession wasn't predetermined by this. I'll need the location later in the story, as for the profession – well, it was more along the lines of duty and ethical dilemmas__._


	3. Chapter 3

**

Chapter 3

**

Dr. Gregory House was a master of scheming, manipulating and observing. One couldn't go without another, so he perfected all the three. For example, right now as he was looking at his team through the glass-wall of his office, while paying his Game boy.

He got his old-new team back, and was quite content with them. Foreman was his old arrogant self, every once in a while trying to challenge him, but failing invariably. Maybe one day he would manage, but that time was still far away. Taub still was predictable, but at least was improving as a real doctor. Not that House would ever admit the latter. Thirteen was amusing to banter with, plus, she did pretty well with inappropriate comments.

He needed this kind of a balance; the realization came very quickly, once the married Cameron had started avoiding him after his return. There were times she used to seek him out, but it seemed like after her marriage she'd made a point not to be alone with him, vehemently trying to live up to her promise. He would call it her own little Crusade, if she wasn't an atheist.

Anyway, he still got three out of four, which wasn't bad at all. Especially since Thirteen wouldn't drive him mad analyzing his each and every step, wouldn't question the morality of his decisions. Well, the latter she might do, but not so often, not with this scared and determined look in her eyes as if he was running off the rails. And the cherry on the top was that Thirteen wouldn't act as if she could and actually did see right through him. She wouldn't make him uneasy. Unlike Cameron.

His thoughts involuntary raced back to Cameron's last evening.

It had become their routine, a tradition of sorts. Her trying to go away, cutting the strings loose, and him pulling them back. He would come a bit closer, just to take a better look at his lobby art, and then retreat again. He had always been selfish, and while he would have never acted on her feelings, he hadn't wanted the others to take his place.

His place - well, it had been a tricky and utterly distorted concept, just one of those he enjoyed playing with. Neither in her bed, nor in her heart. The former, albeit probably enjoyable, would have certainly complicated things. The latter… he still clearly saw a delusion in her "feelings". Though it didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy this delusion from time to time. It had become comforting. One of the constants in his life, and he was a man of habit, after all. He didn't need a place in her heart, for he'd got the one in her mind. Once a full-blown and overwhelming presence, now – a slightly lingering presence. Residual symptoms could be almost impossible to treat, and for once it was fine by him.

After their encounter in his office, for the first time in a long while, he felt that he might lose this place. He didn't want to. Pure and simple. It was like when he had no desire to play piano, but the instrument had to be there, with him. Though playing Cameron had become much more difficult. He had tried to pull her back that evening in the hotel, but had got an unnerving feeling that it was she who called the tune.

Dwelling on the thought, House missed a shot and the screen promptly lit up with a Game-over sign. Right. Game over. He had more pressing issues to deal with. Lisa, for example.

Lisa. A promise and a possibility. Attractive, strong, confident… he wouldn't be afraid of breaking her. She wouldn't let him. It turned out that he had, indeed, needed something tangible, something real. House had always been content with his mind, well, apart from the time it had been playing tricks on him. His mind hadn't let him down this time, with memory promptly showing the best moments of Lisa: their quite enjoyable night, her beauty, witty banter, friendship and all other things which made him yearn to win her even more. The fact that she, apparently, had feelings for him ever since college was just an added bonus. Lisa had known him long before the infraction, had fallen for him before, not because of it. Now he only had to convince Lisa to drop Lucas. It would take some time, but Gregory House was always up to a challenge - it made everything even more exiting, making adrenaline rush through his veins.

House saw Chase enter the conference room and join everyone at the table.

Chare looked better than he used to, in the wake of the Dibala case. Some mornings he still came to work with bloodshot eyes – a telltale sign of the lack of sleep or a hangover, but nothing that a couple of the Ibuprofen pills and Visine wouldn't fix.

Talking of fixing.

House wondered how long it would take for the not-so-happy little family to reunite. Apparently, Cameron was still sulking, not that it was unexpected. Hell, it was her only possible reaction. Not those sudden promises to forgive and forget that she'd used to lure Chase away. Away from him and his poisoning influence.

Sometimes House wondered whether she still compared him to God. In the sense of omnipotence rather than believing. He remembered all too well a little paradox of the most naïve atheist he'd ever met – she claimed not to believe in the other guy. And yet she used to believe in him, in his ability to know the answers and to be eventually right. Flattering as it may have been, it was too dangerous for her to be so blindly-trusting. If he wouldn't crush her, somebody else would, hence, a lesson: people lie and no one is perfect. He had made sure to remind her of it every now and then. But it turned out… He wasn't the one to deliver the most convictive, albeit somewhat cruel lesson. Well, he hadn't done it alone.

Chase, of all people.

But on second thought, it made sense: people don't change. However out of character a sudden desire to save the others may have seemed, Chase's subsequent actions had been anything but.

For all intents and purposes, he'd expected Cameron to overreact, be offended and disappointed, but a sudden forgiveness and an overwhelming desire to run away were rather surprising. Yet Gregory House wouldn't be the best diagnostician, if he hadn't detected a bluffing there. Or a self-delusion, she seemed to like living under those. Once a diagnosis is found, make it known to the world. That's exactly what he had done while convincing Chase to stay. For all logical reasoning, some marital problems and heart-to-heart talks were bound to follow, and he would have watched from the sidelines. That would have been pretty amusing, almost like his own General Hospital. And the constants would have remained the same.

But.

There always was a damn "but" that had an annoying tendency to put a spoke in the wheel of his reasoning when it came to Cameron. She had tried to run away. Alone. After looking at him, determined and disillusioned more than ever, after whispering "there is no way back for you" and "I'm sorry for you both". He wouldn't have believed, the fourth time of crying wolf, and all…

But.

Her words tasted of finality, and he didn't like the flavor. He had had to check it one more time, to make sure that it was yet another bluff of hers and to pull the strings just in case. What he hadn't expected, however, was her looking completely, irreversibly burned-out that evening in the hotel. So much for not crushing.

Leaving her room, House felt a tingle of guilt, yet, since he didn't like dealing with guilt, it was relegated to the sidelines of his mind. Cameron had hinted that they would have a conversation once again, thus, she would be back. End of story.

He knew he was right. As always.

And now it was time to check the results of the tests on their latest patient. House turned off the Game Boy, rose from the chair and strode into the conference room. He had yet another puzzle to solve.

**

Her lawyer offered to simply send the papers to Robert. It would have been easier, would spare the pain of looking at each other, while passing the point of no return. But the idea felt wrong, since Allison didn't want to end their relationship like this: detached and impersonally. Everything that had happened wouldn't change the fact that during the first few months of their marriage she had been genuinely happy. Well, almost happy: despite all her efforts to ignore it, a nagging fear that something might go wrong had been constantly lingering somewhere in the corners of her mind. But never had she imagined something as devastating and irreparable as their new reality. Sometimes Cameron almost wished Robert had cheated – however painful, it wouldn't have crushed them both like Dibala's case had. Maybe their marriage would have ended, but at least it wouldn't have burned Robert out, and her, for that matter. Yet, she needed to meet Robert one last time to see how he was coping with everything.

Cameron arrived at a meeting with their advocates when an agreement had already been finalized. The legal representation agreement she had signed on the insistence of her dad, now served the purpose of protecting her from the consequences of the past mistake: ironically, it was not the Dibala mess, but her own marriage. Should it have been unnerving that one of the lawyers he had recommended was a divorce specialist?

Their case was settled pretty quickly, she didn't ask for anything, refused to get alimony or something else. All she needed was Robert's signature. Once the formalities were over and done away with, once their legal counsels left, Chase looked at her, for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"I still thought," Robert's voice sounded hoarse, "you'd be able to understand. Hoped that you love me more than your principles."

Allison bit her lip. She would have, even had told him this more than once, but he had refused to listen, with an obstinacy worthy of a better cause. She still despised this role of righteous and unforgiving saint he had unconsciously bestowed on her. She was anything but. Her heart ached for him, for what they had become: there was no way back and no way forward for them together.

She had made a choice that would cause the least damage. Robert needed to get free from this marriage; otherwise, with her nearby, he would continue torturing himself. He might refuse to understand it now, but eventually he would realize that divorcing was the only way to survive.

"It wasn't easy on me, you know." Robert ran his hand through his hair.

"It isn't about morals, it's about us. I know it wasn't easy for you. If I could do anything about it, I would. But the truth is - we want different things. It will be better this way, for both of us." Cameron squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and whispered. "I'm so sorry, Robert."

But her words didn't seem to convince him. Once again.

"Looks like... House was right, as always. You can't forgive."

Allison flinched, as if she had just been slapped. She knew he was hurting, and maybe, just maybe, he was looking for someone or something else to blame. Her morals must have been an obvious choice. She wouldn't try to change his opinion: if such reasoning could help to alleviate his pain at least a little bit – she would let it be. She still cared for him deeply.

"If you want to believe House, please, do." She rose from the desk. "If you don't mind, I'll send someone to take the rest of my things from our... your apartment."

"You're leaving the hospital for good?"

"Yes. I sent all the forms to Dr. Cuddy."

"Going back to Chicago?"

"Going back."

She was, indeed. Only the destination differed.

"Take care, Robert."

She squeezed his cold arm.

**

His ducklings were conspiring, or hiding something. Not all of them, but the remnants of the old-old guard, which fueled his curiosity even more.

The other day Foreman and Chase were arguing: a conversation was way too heated to be provoked by their last case. Plus, Chase wore the martyr expression that House despised. He didn't get much, for they abruptly stopped as he strode into the room. What he caught, however, was Foreman's: "Are you sure?" And Chase's:

"Well, I knew it was coming."

Later that day House made a point to observe both of them more closely. Foreman seemed nonchalant; at least, he didn't have a smug expression which, as House knew, would stick to his face every time he was up to something. Chase, on the other hand, seemed like he jumped back in time, to the first week since Dibala's case. He was on the edge, though tried to hide it. Passive-aggressive again. House pried a little, pulled a stunt or two at the differential, but still failed to throw Chase off balance. Pity that Chase had become so good at deflecting his comments. Though still not entirely immune to them, House saw Chase clench his fists as if willing to repeat the infamous punch to his face. Fat chance.

House would have continued his little investigation, but Lisa and their almost-relationships demanded his immediate attention, thus he decided to harass Chase later. After all, Lucas wasn't out of the picture yet, but with a little effort and manipulating, it was just the matter of time.

A week later Chase didn't come to work for two days in a row.

"Where's our hero?" He asked Foreman when they were alone in the conference room, waiting for Taub and Thirteen to come back with the MRI results.

"Leave him alone, House."

"So what is it? Another wave of remorse? Or is he having a happy little family reunion?" He wiggled his eyebrows and made sure to sound as inappropriate, as possible. "Two days, huh? Must've been a long time for them both."

"House, seriously, just shut up. And don't harass Chase about it."

Foreman was obviously torn between to a desire to avoid the conversation altogether, or to shut him up with the only possible way to do it – spilling the beans. Avoiding wasn't an option, so all House needed was just one more push, or two.

"So, when is Mrs. Rightful Indignation coming back?"

"She isn't."

"Right, the ER is nobler."

"House, she isn't coming back. At all." House felt a surge of surprise rising, there were two options, and he didn't know which one he disliked more.

Might as well play dumb:

"Don't tell me she's fleeing to Princeton General. That's just a waste of the wisdom I shared."

"They finalized the divorce yesterday. Cameron went away, Chase needs some time to adjust. So don't bug him when he comes back."

House heard Foreman's words, but for some reason his brain refused to register them. That was impossible. Well, theoretically they could divorce in the end, but not right away, not so quickly, and sure as hell not without him knowing all the details.

Then it dawned on him: she finally left for good, mixing up the pieces of his puzzle once again.

**

It happened two weeks after her meeting with Robert and the lawyers. Cameron was looking through apartment rental advertisements in the Boston Sunday Globe, when her cell started ringing. "Caller ID unidentified."

"Hello?" She wondered who it might be.

"You've changed the number." She had, in a childish attempt to start a new leaf, breaking up with the past. But the past returned to her in the form of House's somewhat irritated voice. As if she had mixed up the tests or forgotten to tell him a symptom. He must have taken somebody else's phone, because she still had his number in her new sim-card. Just to be alerted and never answer if he called. Or so she told herself.

"How did you?"

"House the omniscient and omnipotent. But you owe me two hundred bucks."

"I can change it again, you know?"

"Go for witness protection straight away, it'll be more fun." He was in his usual mocking mode, with the slight irritation she had noticed earlier only making him sound more sarcastic. Cameron knew better than to expect anything different.

"What do you need?"

"You've divorced Chase."

"That's what I've heard."

"You're an idiot."

"I know." She sighed. "Is that all?"

"You're an idiot for doing this." He seemed irritated once again. For a moment Cameron regretted that she couldn't see the expression of his face, it had always helped her to read him better. She squeezed her eyes, trying to block the thought before it had taken root. A new leaf, she reminded herself.

House went on:

"Chase has been wallowing in self-pity and remorse, like all good Christian boys do. That was pretty pathetic. You'd make a lousy God, Cameron. No remission, really?"

"Good thing I'm an atheist then. Aren't you happy to be right?"

"Cut the crap."

"You started it."

"You broke up with Chase, and dumped the hospital."

"There was nothing left for me." She had been plagued with this hollow feeling for a while. Cameron wondered when it all would become easier.

"Guess, the fourth time is a charm, after all. Don't tell Wilson, I don't wanna deal with another disaster of a marriage."

"You know, it feels... liberating, kind of."

"Running away usually is."

"Well, you've got the proof, the gossip is true. You can drop it now."

"Actually, rumor also has it that you've found some dying or damaged guy and dropped Chase for him."

"Right, because I can't live without a charity case."

"I dunno, can you?"

"I will." At least she intended to.

"Pretty full of yourself."

"Just hopeful."

"For a bright new future?"

"For myself."

House remained silent for a few moments. Suddenly Cameron realized, that this phone talk was also strangely liberating. She couldn't see him, but wouldn't falter under his scrutinizing gaze either. Before she even realized it, words were out of her mouth:

"It must be irritating."

"Everything is, so be more specific." Her words seemed to surprise him. Apparently, he thought that she wouldn't notice. Either he was overestimating his ability to hide emotions, or underestimating her ability to read between the lines. Maybe both, as always.

"You didn't expect it. And something is amiss, once again."

"Nah, I suspected that you wouldn't take Chase back, even told him so..."

"Sure that you wanna go there?" Cameron interrupted, for she had no intention to recall his part in the whole mess. Whatever her relations with Chase were, or, at this moment – were not, she still believed that he had no right to play with Robert and her like this. Her offense albeit healing, was still raw.

"The bottom line is – I was right."

"Then why are you calling? Why aren't you watching TV, bugging Wilson, playing your damn Game-boy?"

"Decided to change my routine, people say it's healthy."

"You're a man of habit, House." She stated calmly. "And you couldn't care less about healthy."

A minute or two went by in silence; Cameron even started toying with the idea of hanging up, when she heard his voice. This time serious and expectant:

"If you're waiting for a plea to come back, you're wrong."

"Wasn't expecting any."

Only… she was waiting for something, an acknowledgment, a farewell, or whatsoever. Allison gripped her cell. Once again, she would have to be the first to extend a hand. She wondered whether he would ever shake it.

"I've sent you a Bulls cap, by the way." Even an authentic one, she had to fly to Chicago to visit the family and at last tell her mother and brother about the looming divorce.

"Kinda wanted a special delivery."

"Shall I quote Jagger?"

"Don't even try, that's my line."

"Right."

"I get the cap, does it mean that Wilson gets naked pictures?"

"Try to figure it out." She involuntary smiled.

"I'll have to search through his cabinet and all dirty secret drawers at home. You want me to do something illegal?"

"As if it's something new."

"What's next? Running to Africa to save poor lives with good and noble doctors?"

"House, really, just drop it."

"You didn't ask me for a letter of recommendation, without it you'll be accepted only in the Peace Corps or something equally pathetic."

"As if you'd bother to…"

"It would be better than loopy G's."

"I still have the old one, and it mattered for me. Plus, I've asked Cuddy."

Judging by House's silence, he hadn't known about it. Not for the first time, by the way. But these were his relations with Cuddy, and he would have to sort it out on his own. This and many other things. Cameron didn't want to be trapped in the middle of their power-plays anymore.

"Because, you know, she's always been respectful of personal boundaries. Goodbye House."

Cameron slammed her phone shut before losing her resolve.

******

**I would like to thank everyone for reviews and comments. I greatly appreciate the feedback, thank you for reading the story.**


	4. Chapter 4

**

Chapter 4

**

Cameron nervously smoothed her blouse before entering the Dean of Medicine's office.

Job-hunting turned out to be more exhausting than she'd remembered. Her intention to stay in Boston obviously limited the options at hand. She had sent her CV applying for positions in either the ER or Immunology Departments. But apparently, some hospitals preferred the internal promotion, while the others didn't impress her. Then again, Cameron wasn't quite sure what she was looking for, in the first place. Anything different from the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, at least from its Diagnostics Department. But she couldn't build her new life on this sole premise.

An interview invitation from Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center had come as a surprise, inciting a desire to jump for pure childish joy, driving her mad from anxiety and making her stomach twist in knots – all at the same time. One of three major teaching hospitals of Harvard Medical School. She felt like a kid in a toy-shop, knowing that they had almost everything: from the cutting edge emergency room electronic dashboard to the integrated Web Online Medical Record. Unfortunately, in striking contrast with a toy-shop, joining Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center was anything but easy.

Cameron opened the door to see a man in his sixties rising from his desk to greet her.

"Dr. Cameron, I suppose. Good day, I'm Dr. Johnson." He extended a hand to her.

"Nice to meet you."

The next twenty minutes went by as usual during interviews: her previous experience, achievements, cases… She thought she had almost forgotten what "usual" interviews were like, considering how her last one was with House and Wilson, and that had been anything but conventional. The moment these unwanted, but not entirely bad memories appeared, a warning sign "don't go there" flashed in her mind. It was neither the time nor the place. Concentrating on the present instead, Cameron felt adrenaline rushing through her veins, like at an exam. She almost wished her dad was here, because it reminded her of a witness interrogation, a little bit more friendly one, though. Luckily, soon she managed to calm down. Just in time for a phrase that threw her off balance.

"Dr. Cameron, let me be honest. You may've done a great job in the ER, but it would've mattered, only if you stayed at Princeton, or if I was looking for a head of the ER, which is not the case here." Dr. Johnson twisted a pen in his fingers, as he continued, this time more amiably. "I see that you'll do your utmost, but we aren't expecting anything less. There is still a problem, though."

"And that would be?" Out of habit, she half-expected to be offered a comment about her caring too much.

"You don't have a name." Dr. Johnson folded his hands before him, stating the fact. There was no hint of mocking in his voice, nothing but a polite, yet irrefutable observation.

"Excuse me?"

"For almost three years working in the ER, you published only one article, if memory serves me right… 'Management strategies for anterior abdominal stab wounds'. Dr. Johnson looked down at her CV to make sure.

"Yes." With all double-shifts and chaos in the ER, she hadn't had enough time to write something, the more so as most of her cases, though challenging in a sense of saving a patient's life, had been diagnostically obvious and had required conventional treatment.

"Not without merit, it lacked polish and, obviously, guidance, but some ideas were good. Under Dr. House you published two."

"Dr. House… prefers practice, so we put the emphasis on the cases themselves." Cameron carefully chose her words while her thoughts went back to Princeton and her time there. She used to get upset, especially the first time when House hadn't signed her article. Then she had just dropped it, cornering him only if she had been absolutely sure of herself and a paper. Turned out, that she had doubted her abilities too often. Only two articles while working under him, overall three. Great, just great.

"The medical community is a small world, Dr. Cameron, I've got a pretty good idea of what Dr. House's style of working is like. However, I'm not interested in him at the moment. I want to know, how much of an asset you can be to my hospital. I doubt that the head of the ER is your ultimate dream…"

"That job gave me invaluable experience, but you're right, it's time to move on."

"Dr. Hodges from the Mayo Clinic expected you to further specialize in Immunology."

Cameron smiled recalling her former supervisor.

"We graduated from the same University," Dr. Johnson answered her unasked question. "I trust her judgment, otherwise we wouldn't be talking now." Now it didn't take her long to connect the dots. Dr. Hodges had long advised her to come back to working in Immunology. Meanwhile Dr. Johnson went on: "And that's why the name. You've got the potential, but still need to develop it." He made a pause, as if contemplating his next words and leaned back in his chair. "I expect you to submit to the head of your group, or to me, at least four articles during your first six months here. Mind you, on different topics, thoughtful, challenging and original."

Suddenly it hit her: she was getting a position at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. She felt that Dr. Johnson was waiting for her to say something. Childish joy had never worked for her - of all the stupid questions she could have asked:

"Why four?"

"It isn't about the exact number, it's about tackling a challenge. If you have difficulties finding a topic, consult in other departments, work with them. Afterwards, your supervisor and I will decide, which of these papers, if any, will be published. No offense but I want to be sure everything that goes public is up to our standards."

"Well, that is reasonable." Albeit somewhat unusual for her. House had never actually cared, Cuddy hadn't controlled them either, trusting them to make their own choices. The hospital administrator proof-reading articles of employees - a hands-on approach, in its fullest.

"It goes without saying that your day-to-day work shouldn't be affected."

"Of course."

"Then… Welcome to Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. The title is a little too long, but you'll get used to it."

**

Whoever said that there are no indispensable people was right. Things seemed to run relatively smoothly at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Cuddy appointed a new head of the ER, Chase took the spot on House's team and this time permanently, Thirteen and Taub were back for good. Foreman was his usual self. The new-old team solved cases, saved lives, most of the time improving the hospital image. Just as usual, occasional lawsuit threats would tarnish this splendid picture every now and then, but it was nothing new. After all, House had never bothered about lawsuits, though he did try not to piss off cops anymore.

As for the rest, he knew that none of them would actually go all the way to court. First, because patients would eventually come to their senses, drop the offended act and realize that he'd saved their lives. Though the road to a "shiny happy outcome" could be rocky, it was the result that mattered. Second, he had Cuddy to cover up for him. He knew she would. If worse came to worst, he or someone from his team would be suspended for a few weeks. As if it was something new. Little price to pay for eventually saving lives, wasn't it?

"So how is work?" Dr. Nolan's voice echoed his musings. Not for the first time House wondered whether the man had an inner mind-reader.

"Same. I still hate to waste myself on these idiots in the clinic, tough." House sat in a chair, legs stretched out in front of him. His thigh was aching more than usual for the last few days, which were rocky, to say the least. So he did want to get as comfortable, as possible.

"It never gets old. What about your team?"

"They've become more…" House twisted his cane, while looking for an appropriate word. "efficient. They protest from time to time, but mostly they've been tolerable."

"And the patient you told me about last week?"

"Discharged. She's lucky I figured it out eventually, the husband refused to agree on procedures and then almost beat me up. Seems like cripple abuse is the new black."

House would've never admitted it, but he had been testing the borders then, expecting someone to stop him. But Wilson had been busy with his own dying patients, Cuddy had been trying to mend her relationship with Lucas, somewhat strained after House's latest plot. An ingenious plot, by the way. For once, Foreman had agreed with his diagnosis and hadn't bothered arguing, neither had Taub and Thirteen, who had willingly accepted his logic based on the eternal wisdom - "everybody lies". Though Chase had thrown in his own ideas at the differential, he had eventually chosen to trust House on this case, for House's reasoning about "don't tell me you still believe in happily ever after" had seemed to do the trick.

"Why would he?"

"I thought he cheated, my guys got nothing out of him, so I had to do it myself."

"And…"

"Turned out the wife was conscious when I was talking to him." House started lightly tapping his cane on the floor.

"What's the matter, Greg?"

"She went into a cardiac arrest then, which helped us to solve the case."

"You don't seem very content."

"I just don't like messy, and it sure as hell was. The guy wasn't cheating, but he sort of triggered it all. It could've been a lot easier, had someone talked this out of him."

"But your team tried, so maybe no one could've done it."

"I guess here we needed a shrink like you or someone who'd hold his hand and pull an understanding look. I thought that Taub would do it, but since there was no cheating he didn't have anything to bond with the hubby... Damn Cameron."

Admitting a mistake had never been one of his favorite things. Thus, House hadn't let himself mull over her words about ruining Chase or going too far for the sake of a stupid game. He hadn't let himself recall that disillusioned and exhausted look in her eyes. After Foreman had informed him about her divorce, a hollow sense of finality had flashed through his mind, but faded rather quickly, because acknowledging a defeat had never been one of his favorite things either – and Cameron's leaving for good made it glaringly obvious that his plan of pulling her strings hadn't worked. From now on, any thoughts about Cameron had been relegated to the sidelines, overshadowed and offset by less unsettling and much more urgent things, like solving cases, testing his team and plotting against Lucas. Why would he bother, anyway?

But the events of the last few days had stirred up the memories and questions he still had no answers to.

"But Dr. Cameron left, didn't she?"

House had never told Nolan the circumstances of Cameron's departure, just stated the fact.

"Run away. Have I told you that it's her fourth attempt?"

"You have. Why are you mentioning her now?"

"She was the first over-compassionate doctor who came to mind. She should've made it easier and stayed."

"Easier for whom?"

"For the Department, of course. Some patients are suckers for caring."

"Ok."

Nolan seemed to be ready to move on to other things, like his feelings for Cuddy and his latest plot of how to win her – these had become permanent topics of their sessions. Yet the uneasy questions about Cameron refused to fade away as House thought about that annoying "but" that once again came up to disrupt all his logical reasoning.

"She divorced him. I thought she was a keeper, hell, I know she used to be."

"So what is bothering you?"

"That's just stupid, and I hate stupid. Who throws away everything for insane moral principles? I mean, I suspected that her self-righteousness wouldn't allow her to forgive, but…"

"I can only guess here, but however strong moral principles are, they are never the only factor. It must have had something to do with her marriage itself. For instance, if there is no love, no trust, or…"

No trust in Chase, no trust in him. Had one of the elements still existed, everything could have been different. Not that House wanted anything different, things were pretty acceptable just the way they were.

But blame it on the mess of the last few days, or on the frustration that always gripped him when he knew that missing pieces wouldn't fit in a puzzle in a way he wanted them to… For whichever of this reasons, he felt an urge to find a flaw in Cameron's motives, detect a hypocrisy in her previous "feelings" toward him, or even toward Chase– anything that would make a picture whole and familiar again.

"But she simply gave up on everything."

"What exactly?"

"The desire to save everyone, especially poor and damaged ones."

"You can only save those who want to be saved. We've been through this with you when you were in Mayfield."

"Chase seemed willing, though not on her terms… But, for sure, I never wanted it from her, she still persisted."

"Either you had, or this time she finally got the hint better, but you told me that she was annoyingly perceptive, so the latter is questionable."

"Whatever."

House shook himself before the thought took root. That way lay madness. Been there, done that, had no intention to come back. For a moment he wondered whether Cameron was saying the same about Princeton, him and her marriage. Not that it bothered him, not in the slightest.

House promptly changed the topic.

*

_Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center really exists, it's really well-equipped and known for its research. Everything else – characters, management methods – is a fiction. As you can guess, that was the reason why I chose Boston of all places__._

**Thank you all for reviews and comments, your opinion matters to me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**

Chapter 5

**

Cameron stirred her tea, looking at the man in front of her. It had been a long time since she had last seen him, though they kept in touch through e-mails and occasional phone-calls. When he first mentioned coming to Boston for a Moving Walls photo exhibition on HIV education in Sub Saharan Africa and for donor meetings, she already knew she would meet him, no matter how tough his schedule would be. Luckily for her, Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center was one of the places that invited Sebastian for a lecture, which gave them a chance to catch up in the hospital cafeteria.

Cameron arrived just in time, luckily she no longer got lost in the corridors of her new hospital. It had taken a few months to adjust, though she still had all of the turns, halls and stairways of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital engraved in her memory. Sometimes she wondered when it all would finally fade away.

The first ten minutes or so were filled with small talk and catching up. She asked herself who would broach the subject first.

"I still can't believe that you've left Princeton. You seemed attached to the place." Apparently, Sebastian decided to be the first one to ask difficult questions.

"It was time to move on, and I didn't want it to be awkward, with me and Robert working in the same hospital."

"You wrote that you started working with Dr. House again. Does Chase still?"

"I guess so. As for me… You know what they say about stepping in the same river twice."

Sebastian nodded. Cameron summoned her courage to touch upon the topic that had been tormenting her for some time now, fueling her desire to meet Sebastian.

"Anyway, the second time around I worked only on a couple of cases. One of them - you may have heard of, President Dibala."

A frown that crossed Sebastian face didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Yeah, even saw him… in action, let's say. We visited the country a couple of times back then. Terrible." Sebastian didn't add anything further, but the tight set of his jaw was tell-tale.

"And now?" Cameron held her breath.

"Let's not go there. You can watch TV, read something on the Internet."

"Sebastian, you're the only one of my friends who was there, and I trust your judgment. As for news… I've tried, but reports are too conflicting, I can't make out a clear picture. Some say it's better, the numbers of casualties aren't rising, some say it's worse."

Sebastian took a sip of coffee.

"Sometimes it's better not to have a clear picture." Cameron knew it all too well, a tiny voice in her head started whispering that ignorance was bliss, and that her last quest for truth had ended up in disaster. She forced herself not to listen to it. Sebastian went on:

"Believe me, you don't want to hear this."

"Sebastian, maybe I don't want to, but I need to." She inwardly marveled at the irony – the phrase, the reasoning about her needing did ring a bell, from long ago, when she had one evening and one chance.

A funny feeling: needing something and dreading it at the same time. What if Chase had helped them? What if something had changed? Would it make her feel better? Would it hurt less or more? Too many what-ifs, too many scenarios. She had to stop being a coward, for her own sake, had to face the truth one more time.

"Sometimes we all need a getaway, I've been sort of looking for one today." He seemed to find the teaspoon fascinating, rubbing at a non-existent spot on the handle as he spoke. Cameron felt a tingle of guilt. An inconsiderate friend – yet another label to put on her, the list seemed to be open-ended.

"Sorry, if you don't…"

"No, that's Ok. I'll be speaking with donors at the exhibition, might as well practice…" Sebastian gave her a boyish smile while his eyes remained serious and concerned. Then he started talking.

When Cameron was little, she could hear her parents quarrelling in their room. Even a perfect house in the suburbs can have its flaws, like peeling plaster or a cracked timber floor. Or thin walls. She picked up a trick then: she'd close her eyes and started building thick walls; they would let through no words, just incoherent sounds that she would hear yet never make out. She'd perfected the trick through the years, didn't need to close her eyes any longer, and could even utter a phrase or two if it was a conversation. 'Thank you for coming' - a line she had duly delivered over and over again while a dozen of pitiful 'I understand your grief's and the hushed 'He was too young's swirled around Cameron without her hearing them at her husband's funeral.

She'd stop hiding from reality; she'd face the truth, just not yet. This evening, in the safety of her apartment, she would recall Sebastian's each and every word. The phrases that currently were making their way to the sidelines of her conscious mind would flare up later. So far it was a stream of sounds, though she did have to make an effort to block the ones that refused to fade away immediately.

"It's like one proverbial Gordian knot was replaced by a dozen new ones."

_A wall._

"Dibala was a son of a bitch, but at least confident enough to let our doctors pass, not everywhere, of course, but… first-aid kits, antibiotics…"

_One more._

"They wouldn't let us now, too many closed areas, too many fighting camps… The numbers you've mentioned - they aren't rising because nobody counts, TV guys are just guessing there. I wish I could believe they are right, it'd be easier."

_Yet another._

"People are flooding from there. It's just spiraling out of control, for the other states, I mean… It's not that they could properly support even their own population, let alone thousands of refugees. In the end, clashes break out…"

_Yet another._

She would mull over his story, over and over again. But later, not yet, or she would lose her resolve and would fail to do what she intended.

"Can you do me a favor?" Cameron asked after a few minutes of silence. Apparently, this time she wasn't that good at keeping track of the conversation and missed the moment when Sebastian finished and started simply looking at her. He answered:

"I'll try, at least."

"When you come to Princeton, please don't mention our meeting."

"Why? Was your split with Chase that bad?"

"No." Cameron answered a bit too quickly. "No, no huge fights or dramatic door-banging. Just… for now, I don't want to have anything in common with Princeton, that's all. I doubt that anyone will ask, but anyway."

"Let's say I buy it, is that all?"

"I guess..." Cameron took a deep breath. Even doing her best not to take in the full weight of Sebastian's story, she got her answer. Cameron felt cold spreading throughout her body, making her stomach tie in knots as she thought of what might happen, should one more person hear this. It could be the last straw. She had to do something to prevent it from happening, otherwise, any fragile balance that Chase could have reached, would be shattered, pushing him further into self-destruction. Before she even realized it, before she even thought it over, words were out of her mouth:

"If you see Chase, could you… Please, if he asks you, don't tell him things you've just told me, about Africa, I mean. He worries about every failure we've had, with Dibala it was even worse - from the very beginning he was… apprehensive of the consequences." She was never good enough at lying, with a grain of frustration Cameron realized that she should've thought it over beforehand. But it was too late now, she went on: "We all were at a stalemate. Somebody was bound to get hurt. When the treatment didn't work, Chase took it hard, feared that things would go from bad to worse."

"I've never pictured Chase as a caring type, not that I remember him much. Anyway, you know him better."

A funny thing – she used to believe that she did.

"Yeah."

"Ok, but why do you care? No offense but that's a bit strange for an ex-wife to…"

Cameron didn't let him finish, perfectly aware that she needed to explain why she was doing it to Sebastian and, for that matter, to her own conscience:

"I just don't want him to live blaming himself for the whole ordeal. If he believes that there is… I don't know, not an improvement, but at least hope, that there are fewer casualties now… May be it will make him…" He voice trailed off, as she found herself unsure of what to say next. "Maybe it'll hurt less."

"Only a person who knows absolutely nothing about Africa and politics would believe this."

"Or one who wants to believe."

"Why would he blame himself?"

"Sorry?" That was the moment Cameron realized that she had just involuntary let out more than she should have. With trepidation, she waited for Sebastian's answer, hoping against hope that he would just drop the topic.

"You've just said he'd blame himself."

"I… I meant the whole team."

"Does he…" Obviously, Sebastian was looking for words, thinking over what he was going to say next. "Does he blame himself the way you think he does?"

"You've said it: I know my husband. Ex-husband." Yet for a moment Cameron felt doubts arising. Chase had a difficult time dealing with the aftermath of his actions. She knew he was hurting, but, on second thought, she couldn't say for sure whether he blamed himself for letting a person die or, even in so doing, still thought that his choice was justified, at least partly.

"Now you don't sound very sure of it."

Cameron started studying her cup of tea. She wasn't, and that's what hurt the most.

"Don't do it, Allison."

"What do you mean?"

"I may not be the most brilliant doctor, but I know a thing or two about people. And I know what kind of feelings people like Dibala can instigate. For some reason, and I won't pry here, you're asking me to do something, which will make whatever happened back then more… acceptable for Chase."

"Sebastian, you're misreading."

"I'm neither asking you what happened, nor want to."

"Then… "

"Acceptable once, it might happen in the future. Is that what you want?"

"No, I would never..." Cameron didn't want Chase to go any further in his attempt to follow House's path by playing God. Of that she had no doubt whatsoever.

Still feeling guilty for failing to help Robert, for being unable to stay and to go through the aftermath with him, she desperately sought to alleviate some of his pain, her own kind or redemption, but she hadn't even thought about consequences. Sebastian's words woke her up.

"Forget it. Thank you, Sebastian."

Those who consider it permissible to tell white lies soon grow colorblind. She didn't want to.

Sebastian gave her a tiny smile and answered:

"You know, it'll be easier just to skip Princeton."

She felt the corners of her lips tilt upwards, thankful to Sebastian for helping her to find a middle ground, if still a shaky one, but in this situation a shade of gray was more merciful than just black and white. Ignorance was bliss, even though she had never been lucky enough to have it, at least someone would.

Sebastian took a bit of a muffin and a bit too cheerfully said:

"Okay, have I told you how I send my newcomers to buy a real Christmas tree in Meru?"

**

Cameron entered her apartment after a long and exhausting day at work. Not bothering to change into something more comfortable, she sank into the couch and closed her eyes. Sometime later, she heard the cell start ringing. Her bag was on the floor, within hand's reach, but picking up the phone would actually involve moving, and it didn't take a doctor to say that any movement would, in turn, mean expending energy, something which seemed in short supply this evening. She wished one day this reasoning would do the trick, beating the sense of duty. It could be from the hospital, after all. Cameron sighed and picked up, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Hello."

"Let's have a differential." Now she was fully awake. His voice sounded falsely nonchalant – a clear sign that he was up to something. Well, he obviously was, otherwise he wouldn't have called in the first place.

"I'm no longer working for you, House."

"Well, that's your fault." Before Cameron could deliver any comeback, he went on: "So, doc Africa refused to come to Princeton, and that's the gratitude we get for saving his life. He gave Cuddy some crap about a tight schedule and all. Any ideas?"

"Sometimes a busy schedule is just a busy schedule." Cameron answered, carefully choosing her words.

"Sure, and an elevated white cell count is just an elevated while cell count."

"You're asking me because?"

"Just so you know: he, nevertheless, went to New York, some kind of UN-sponsored conference for saving puppies all around the world."

"I'm sure there's a point somewhere…"

"There is." House paused dramatically and went on, feigning carelessness once again. "Incidentally, I have a doctor on my team: likes suffering, wallowing in guilt and believing in a greater good, to which he had, apparently, served. He suddenly wanted to have a sight-seeing trip to the Big Apple. A pure coincidence, of course."

"House," Cameron felt a sudden fear grip her. "What happened?"

"You should've plotted better." There was no reproach in his voice, no irritation which, she knew, would always be there when he was forced to deal with something he didn't want to. But House sounded moderately amused, as if still trying to figure something out. Meanwhile, he continued speaking:

"It damaged my reputation, you know, spending four days to find an obvious diagnosis. Kinda had to take my team hostages: "no one leaves the damn hospital till it's over, or you're fired". Luckily Chase fell for it - booze seems to damage the brain instead of liver."

"Thank you." Cameron sighed in relief, but a moment later she couldn't help dwelling on House's last words.

"How much does he drink now?"

"Who am I, his mommy?"

"A father figure, apparently. Giving advice and all."

"Still bitter, huh?"

"Not anymore. House, please."

"Calm down, not that much and not that often."

"That's good."

"You can stop caring, your ex-hubby got over you, by the way. Finally took a nurse on a date."

Had someone else conveyed the news to her, Cameron would have believed it, but it was something in House's voice that told her that this time it was a bluff. Ironically, now that she no longer could tell what was going on in Robert's mind, she still could interpret House's intonations.

"He didn't."

"Not yet, but one day he will."

"Okay."

"That's it?"

"I think I'll be… relieved. Moving on is good for him."

Cameron closed her eyes, as she slightly massaged the bridge of her nose. She suddenly recalled herself delivering a somewhat similar line to House: "_You just couldn't love me. It's okay, I'm happy for you." _ Only with Chase the first part of the phrase didn't fit, though the ending still remained the same: she would be happy for him.

"What does a guy have to do to make you hate him?"

"You already asked that."

"You never answered." She remained silent, hoping that House would feel that she wasn't willing to respond. Cameron succumbed to a pressing urge to turn their conversation and House's attention to something less serious:

"A nurse, though… it might as well be Thirteen, he liked her."

"Gosh, you're evil, now I'll be waiting for a threesome in my department, since the black bro is still there."

She was going to say goodbye, when he said in his best bored tone:

"So, that guy actually signs your articles."

So far Cameron had submitted three out of four. Though it'd be better to say - three out of a dozen drafts, but that was her own story. And here it was - two months since the first one had been published. But considering that she hadn't expected him to ever acknowledge it... Cameron shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position because her back was hurting after long hours of working.

"He was of great help. Turns out, I didn't know much about academic writing."

"The guy must be onto something. Started chasing after him yet?"

"He's married, for God's sake."

"Fancy hearing that from an atheist."

"You know," Cameron paused for a moment, wondering whether she should tell him or not, but then decided to go for it anyway. He wasn't here, and it was still strangely liberating. "For a guy who prides himself on being original, you're getting to be far too easy to predict."

"And that was outwardly insulting."

"I'd ask you not to call, but you've never done as I asked you."

"Is that your indignation speaking?"

"No, I just hope you'll find another distraction. Goodbye House."

"There are plenty, but I kinda like diversity. Bye, Cameron."

She stared at the cell for a long moment before placing it gently on the nearby table.

**

**Thank you ****very much for reading and commenting. I appreciate your opinion.**

A.N.: "_Moving Walls" is a really existing documentary photography exhibition series, launched in 1997. In fact, the 15__th__ Moving Walls exhibition did include a section on HIV education, though it focused primarily on one county – Lesotho and the work of African Liberty project there, for the fic I broadened the location. _

"_Those who think it is permissible to tell white lies soon grow color-blind" – is a quote by Austin O'Malley._

_And a side-note about Christmas tree in Kenya__ – in fact, that was a little joke we used to play on newcomers when I worked in the country. We would ask them to go to the market and buy a real, not artificial Christmas tree, convincing them that it was easy and we did it before. Of course, finding a real Christmas tree that they were used to was almost impossible, so they (still shy to ask again and fearing to fail the task) would start frantically searching for it everywhere. When they would finally give up, someone from the senior stuff would reprimand them a little bit, go to the market and buy a branch of __acacia tree, which was there all the way and which poor guys had seen but never associated with a real Christmas tree._


	6. Chapter 6

**

Chapter 6

**

House was inwardly reveling in his victory.

He convinced Lisa to give it a try. At last. More than a year after his return from Mayfield, after months filled with the elaborate scheming and tenacious efforts aimed to get Lucas off his way. A year in which he had been trying to prove that occasionally he could be understanding and supportive in his own way. And he was, without turning into a poster-boy like Wilson, of course. He would still ditch clinic duty and annoy patients, but he would make sure not to drive Lisa mad too much and every once in a while show that he cared. He did, after all. House knew that Lisa would also wish to see "mature" and "always reliable" on the list of his newly-developed qualities, but that was outwardly unfeasible.

Step by step, occasionally stumbling on a rocky road of still lingering insecurities and conflicting emotions, they arrived at a long-awaited resolution. It happened at her home, where House had invited himself over for dinner; they had one of their hide-and-seek conversations, with him pushing and her finally giving up, which eventually led to her bedroom. He had known that he would ultimately win her, hadn't expected it to happen that particular evening, but the time was as good as any.

Lisa drifted off, but he was still awake thinking about what would happen next. Sure, they would start a relationship, he would have to be someone resembling a good boy, not in the hospital, mind you, but at least in private. He had put too much effort into proving that he could be at least relatively reliable, and more proving was still in store, but he didn't mind. Maybe he should take out her and Rachel somewhere again.

It felt new, for the first time in a long while he was hoping.

House heard his cell start buzzing. On any other day he wouldn't have picked up, but he didn't want the call to wake Lisa, so he carefully rose from the bed, making sure to be as quiet as possible for a man with a limp, took the phone and the cane, and went to the bathroom.

The caller ID read "Renegade" – a title conveniently fitting somewhere in the middle of his contact list. He had invented it a couple of months ago, once he had found out that Wilson had been snooping through his cell to retaliate for one of his latest stunts. Wilson himself wasn't a problem – in fact, his attempt at revenge had failed miserably, but the boy wonder had asked Chase to help with mixing up the contacts. Luckily, House had eavesdropped and promptly changed one particular contact. Just in case. Though he couldn't rationally explain why the prospect of Chase finding that number and that name irked him so much.

House wondered what would be her reason for calling at two in the morning. The curiosity had the better of him, so he picked up.

"A male, 62 years old, presenting with fatigue, headache." Her voice sounded strange, a bit uneven, not slurring, but the reason was still unmistakable.

"A drunk differential? Who are you, and what have you done with Cameron?"

"Dizziness."

"Boring. You pulled me out of bed for this?"

"What, a hooker can't wait?" Normally, Cameron would have never made such a comment, but it seemed like alcohol made her bolder.

"Also known as the Dean of Medicine, thank you." For some reason, he felt an overpowering urge to say it to someone, to make sure that it wasn't another hallucination. Though, maybe the choice of a listener wasn't that great.

She was silent only for a moment and then said:

"Congratulations. Can we move on? You'll return sooner." House expected a sort of emotional monologue, a tremor in her voice or something. But there was only the slight sluggishness he'd noticed before. Obviously, that little case bothered her more than his relationship with Cuddy. That was insulting, but interesting, so he decided to play along.

"So, where's the juicy stuff?"

"Occasional tremor, confusion, trouble swallowing."

"Cognitive function?"

"So far adequate."

'So far' - stop making it easy for me. Coordination problems?"

"Rare. Even if they are - could be ascribed to dizziness, a residual effect of …"

"Blood tests?"

"Ruled out…"

"You won't give me details? Finally want to make it more difficult?"

"Ruled out Lyme disease, collagen-vascular diseases."

"Are you high again?" His first conclusion about her being drunk seemed a bit rushed, for she sounded pretty sober, just somewhat strange. He couldn't put his finger on it, and that was more interesting than this little case she was presenting. "MRI?"

"Lesions on the brain."

"I have an answer; you still want me to play along?" He listened to the silence on the other end of the line, apparently, she did. "Okay. VEP?"

"Confirms certain scarring along nerve pathways."

"Tell me there are oligoclonal bands in the cerebrospinal fluid, and we get classic MS. Maybe an early stage."

"Oligoclonal bands are present in other diseases as well."

"You even manage not to slur, which is impressive. I'm sure you've ruled them out after the blood work."

"What else?"

He had almost forgotten how persistent she could be in her desire to find a glimpse of hope.

"Cameron, that's a late-onset MS. Sucks for him. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?"

"It has to be something else."

"Sure, that's why you're calling at two in the morning, giving me hints all the way. Is it another charity case?"

"Shut up, House."

"Still grasping at a straw. You're ignoring the most obvious diagnosis."

"MS, the attack occurred more than a year ago, was managed by steroids. Then – usual drugs for reducing symptoms. The patient switched from Rebif to Betaseron a couple of months ago."

So, the case wasn't even a recent one. The first symptoms she mentioned must have been present at the time the guy had been hospitalized.

House had only one piece of a new puzzle that was still amiss:

"Then why did you call?"

"Still grasping at straws." It came out barely a whisper. House knew that particular tone and hated it because it had an annoying tendency to bring up too many unsettling memories, which he didn't want to deal with. The same tone she had uttered: _"I'm sorry for you both, for what you've become, because there is no way back for either of you."_

"Who's the patient?"

"Doesn't matter."

"If it didn't, you wouldn't have called."

"A relapsing/remitting."

"Unlikely, it has to be a primary-progressive soon, or he's a damn lucky bastard. How long since the initial diagnosis? "

"That was the first attack, so a year and a half, I think."

"Was there a second one?"

"A minor episode in three weeks, full recovery."

"Meets the requirement of two attacks, though somewhat too fast. But could be ascribed to his age." Though House valued a good medical puzzle, tonight he was not in the mood for making wild guesses, thus he preferred to use a convenient explanation.

First, because the situation already seemed absurd and screwed even to him: he was spending part of his first night in a long while with Lisa… talking to Cameron. Though he claimed to be always up for a threesome, this situation was certainly not what he had in mind. Nolan would have a field day, had he if he had a chance to listen to his thoughts now. Second, House jumped at the easiest explanation because to come up with another theory he needed more details and scans, since getting them now would be impossible, the guessing game would be just a waste of time.

"Can it be something else?" It was difficult to read Cameron's emotions now that he could no longer see her, but her voice was a dead giveaway tonight. Desperation – such was a leitmotif of her questions.

"Sure, lupus." Judging by her dead silence, Cameron didn't appreciate the irony. Indeed, sometimes MS could be misdiagnosed as lupus, but in that case it was unlikely. House went on, trying to gauge her reaction:

"Still haven't come to acceptance, I see. Denial isn't healthy."

"Denial and anger, so far, and the best is yet to come."

"Do you always show off dark humor when drunk?"

"Forget it, thanks House. And I'm… glad for you."

Before he could respond the line went dead. There was no point in calling back, and it wasn't like he suddenly wanted to, but the situation was still intriguing. It had been a while since they had last spoken to each other. Cameron had never called; usually he was the one prying, out of pure curiosity and desire to unnerve her, of course. Not that this conversation bothered him. But it had been long time since he'd seen a doctor so stricken by a case. His team occasionally felt sorry for patients, but not to the point of driving themselves crazy. It must have been yet another pathetic guy she empathized with. The case was outwardly obvious, at least from what Cameron managed to tell him, theoretically he could insist on seeing MRI scans himself and running a couple of additional tests, but that was out of the question. A late-onset MS was uncommon, but not as rare as previously believed, so the diagnosis seemed plausible. Though there were a couple of absolutely impossible options. House looked at his cell. Would Cameron ever develop a sense of self-preservation?

He tapped his fingers on the handle of his cane, and then did it:

"Other red flags, a br. biopsy, etc."

Send.

She would frantically check all others red flags in the MS diagnosing, would rule out all likely and unlikely suspects, but the odds were not in that guy's favor. She could even order a brain biopsy in a last-ditch effort. Had it been his case, had she been on his team, he would have never said it, so as not to encourage useless self-delusions. But for some reason he broke his own rule today, maybe he was almost happy and felt generous. Surely, it wasn't because he felt this annoying tingle of guilt for everything that had happened before she left.

Satisfied with the explanation, House quietly left the bathroom and slipped back into the bed.

**

Cameron's head was aching mercilessly. She didn't want to open her eyes for she knew that the morning light would cut them like a knife. But her alarm was already doing quite a good job of it with her ears. Having turned off the alarm, she sat on the bed, still in her dress from the day before. For a second she thought that it might have been a nightmare. The previous day and the last night spent with papers and a glass of scotch that she hated, the talk with House.

House.

Knowing how many unimaginable, statistically marginal diagnoses he had nailed, she hoped against hope. Or maybe she was looking for a consolation, though her mind nearly shouted that the new House wouldn't even bother, but unfortunately, she still remembered the old one. But… there was no divine inspiration when she desperately needed it. And people wondered why she was an atheist.

House had mistakenly thought that she had been drunk. Cameron hadn't been, she had taken only one gulp so as to get rid of a lump in her throat that made it difficult to breathe. Not trusting her own voice, she had to speak more slowly than usual.

The sole new thing House said was that he had started dating Cuddy, and Cameron almost wished she could start writhing under the weight of this news - it would distract her for a while. After all, that's how some painkillers work. But all other feelings, events, matters lost their intensity, fading into background, as a copy of a medical history, a letter and test results scattered on the floor caught her eye.

Test results that she hadn't even known about. Well, she was perfectly aware what kinds of tests they were, but she hadn't suspected that they had ever been conducted on a patient. The patient. And a letter. The letter that triggered it all.

The previous evening she had come to her dad's home, intending to go out to the opera with him. He had been held up at work, and when she had arrived, he still had had to change into another suit. So while he had been in his room, Allison had taken a pile of mail from a journal table. Some of her mail was still forwarded to her dad – she had used his address for a referral, before she found an apartment in Boston. Then she had noticed it.

A blue and white letter, with the Betaseron logo and a title announcing that a brochure on self-injection techniques was inside.

No one knew, but sometimes she hated when the pieces of a puzzle connected together. At such times it wasn't about the thrill of solving it; it was about the fear of acknowledging the result.

_The hearings her father couldn't leave to go to her wedding. _

There was a consoling option: it could have been time for his yearly tests. Yet deep inside she knew that her dad would have pushed everything aside to come to her wedding. Even the tests. Which left only one credible answer: an attack.

_Him worrying about something._

Hiding the truth, fearing the future. Late-onset MS is usually associated with a faster progression to disability.

_Flu-like symptoms. _

Not a flu, damn it, but the side-effects of drugs.

The brochure meant that he had recently switched to Betaseron. Even without a booklet Cameron knew the facts about the drug, remembered everything she had learned about MS: Betaseron was to be taken daily, could be self-injected, required the thinnest needle in the MS therapy.

No wonder that these few months that she had been staying in his apartment, she hadn't noticed her dad taking anything. Most other drugs, Rebif, for example, were to be administered several times a week at the hospital. Avonex required only one injection a week.

Cameron's hands had started shaking, as she had dropped all the mail on the floor. She had hugged herself, trying to get warm, as the cold had twisted inside, spreading through her, almost causing physical pain. When her dad had returned to the sitting room, she still hadn't been able to lift her gaze from the letter on the floor.

"For how long?" She had whispered, because her throat had suddenly gone dry.

"More than a year." His voice had sounded non-committal, just like when her parents told her and her brother that they would live separately for a while. Apparently her dad had been hiding something else, apart from the diagnosis. Could it get any worse?

"For how long exactly?"

"Two days before your wedding." Her dad had hidden his hands in the pockets. "The first attack, they had to hospitalize me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would've come and cancelled everything, right?"

"Of course I would have!"

"That wedding had enough bumps in the road already."

"And later?"

"Allison, I took a while to acknowledge, still difficult to accept. Admitting… " His voice had trailed off. "The truth doesn't always set you free."

Cameron had wanted to protest but then had recalled herself informing her parents about the HIV scare only after getting the negative test results.

"Do mom and Daniel know?"

"Your mom does. If I didn't manage time to tell you and Daniel this… before another attack, she would have."

Cameron had felt the floor start swimming under her legs, as if she had just been punched in the chest, and the air for the next breath still wouldn't come. She had experienced this sensation only twice in her life: when her first husband had died and when Chase had confessed. She had taken a couple of steps to the sofa, sat and leaned heavily on it.

"I should've noticed sooner." She had bitten her lower lip, when her dad had sat near her, putting his hand on her shoulders in a comforting gesture. "Everyone was right: I'm a crappy doctor…"

"Don't you ever say it. Allison, you didn't see me when the symptoms were evident, after this… well, I can speak the language now – it's been remitting."

There had been a lot of things to say, a lot of questions to ask, but at the moment they all had been nothing but a blur of thoughts in her mind. The only thing that she could master:

"You know that smoking makes it worse, right?"

"Still trying to bug me about smoking?" He had jokingly raised his eyebrows. "I know that it's bound to get worse anyway."

"I want to get your history and talk to your doctor."

"Kid, I don't think that…"

"Dad, please."

"I have some copies here, just in case. Tomorrow I'll ask him to send you the rest."

Needless to say, they had never made it to the opera that night. An hour later she had returned home, with the copy of her dad's history and tests, still not detailed enough, but giving an overall picture. Cameron had spent the next few hours reading the fragmented information over and over again, until she had decided to call House.

*

_Thank you very much for reading and commenting the story. I highly appreciate the opinion of my readers._

_Author's note: diagnosing MS is a complicated process, with lots of tests. __**I'm not a doctor, so I apologize for any inconsistencies you can find here.**__ Differential on the phone… Well, House was asking right questions, and Cameron was giving him leads. _

_Another note - according to some research, a late-onset MS (over 50 years) has a rate of 9% - 4%. As for the type of MS: primary-progressive is more common with the patients who have been diagnosed over 50 and the progression of the disease is considered more rapid (but once again – there are always exceptions)._


	7. Chapter 7

**

Chapter 7

**

Apparently, she was still in denial. The next three days went by as if in a mist: substituting strong coffee for sleep, looking for information on the Internet and reading materials from the hospital's Neurology Department to find anything that might help. Cameron didn't have her own office, but when she had asked for two days off to study this case, Dr. Johnson had let her use one of the old conference rooms for "research purposes", as he had put it. Cameron was grateful to her boss that he didn't ask anything further. Now the room was stuffed with books, medical journals and print-outs; MRI scans were hanging on the illuminated screen on the wall. There was no whiteboard, so Cameron wrote all her ideas on yellow post-it notes, sticking them to the other wall.

The first morning the light-blue wall had seemed almost entirely yellow, covered with all possible and impossible options, even though, obviously, they had already been ruled out by the doctors who had diagnosed MS. After she had received the detailed history and scans, Cameron had to remove the yellow pieces of paper one by one. The more islands of blue appeared on the wall, the more hopeless and frustrated she felt.

Still, she was unwilling to come to acceptance that easily, simply couldn't. She used to have several things she treasured in her life: her parents and her brother, a few close friends and, however insane it might seem, her naïve, yet reassuring faith that there was good in people. Years later she allowed herself to believe that her relationship with Robert could be one of such safe havens. Everything else could change or go awry, but those pillars would remain, or so she had thought until life had started destroying these pillars one by one.

Her hopes for a future with Robert had tumbled down like a house of cards. Years and distances had separated her from many of her friends. Including even House, Foreman, Wilson - although they were not friends in a conventional, clichéd sense of the word, once she knew, or rather believed that they would understand her when she would really need it. They would support her, each in his own way. But these three men had also slipped away from her life, for different reasons. Well, House still lingered, but Cameron suspected that it was because of her inability to give up on things, rather than his own wish. Though with House one could never say for sure.

In the end, only a few constants in her life were still intact, and she didn't want another one to be taken away. Not her dad, not so soon, not like this.

House would mock her, if he saw her now: at two a.m., sitting cross-legged on the floor in a pool of papers, with empty styrofoam coffee cups forming a little tower in the far corner on the room that threatened to fall at any moment. Luckily, House was nowhere near, so she didn't have to listen to the sarcastic comments about grasping at straws or being in denial. Ironically, at the same time Cameron almost wished House was there: after all these years she had come to believe in his brilliance and ability to see things, which others, including her, missed. If she wasn't that consumed by the case, she would have felt uneasy at this thought – a clear sign that she still doubted her abilities and relied on him too much, even after everything. Though Cameron could always use a safer explanation: she needed a second opinion and was unwilling to ask one of her new colleagues for a consult so far.

For what seemed the hundredth time she scanned the history:

_Hospitalized with fatigue, headache, fever, dizziness, tremor, confusion, trouble swallowing._

_Lesions on the brain. _

_Oligoclonal bands in the cerebrospinal fluid._

_Obvious demyelination… _

She narrowed her eyes looking at the scans through her glasses. True demyelination was evident, but it was difficult to unequivocally discern the extent of penetration into the white matter. Or she simply had been looking at these scans for too long and started doubting even the clearest lines. Cameron made a mental note to take the scans to the hospital's tech room first thing in the morning and to ask to find a way to enhance and enlarge the images.

She once again looked at the wall in front of her: yellow sticks were few and far between, but they were there. Still grasping at straws.

Something had to be amiss, but deep down Cameron wondered whether she would ever find any rational reason to believe in it, because so far it was her denial and unwillingness to acknowledge the diagnosis that pushed her to look for another one.

Her father's MS hadn't progressed for almost a year, and apart from an attack three weeks following the first one, there had been no new episodes. Could be pure luck, which would vanish as soon as the disease progressed. Some doctors would point at the occasional tremor or chills as repressed manifestations of MS, but they could as well be a side-effect of drugs. Scanning the test results, Cameron couldn't get rid of the feeling that this and an increase in lymphocytes in the spinal fluid was a sign of something else. Not that it was unexpected from an immunologist. And a daughter.

She rose and stretched a bit, trying to calm down the protesting muscles of her back. Her eyelids were heavy, which meant that it was time for yet another cup of coffee. She exited the room and went to a vending machine through the dark corridor. She let out a frustrated sigh when she saw that the lights for the buttons didn't work, so she had to randomly press several of them.

Back in her room, Cameron took a sip of coffee only to spit it out a moment later: too much sugar and milk, plus the liquid was lukewarm. She put the cup on the edge of her little tower and turned to go back to her books, when a dozen of the styrofoam cups suddenly tumbled down, rolling on the floor in all directions. For some reason she couldn't tear her eyes away from the mess in front of her. Suddenly Cameron saw her latest cup: the pathetic excuse of coffee spilled over, baring a lump of sugar that had not dissolved yet, since the liquid wasn't hot enough.

Dissolve.

Disappear.

Resolve…

An idea, which came to her mind, was highly improbable, an air-castle in its fullest. Either it was a chance, or she allowed herself to see what she so desperately wanted to see instead of what actually was there.

She anxiously dialed her dad's number:

"Hello." Her dad's voice sounded hoarse - he must have been sleeping.

"Did you have measles, rubella, influenza, mycoplasma, chlamydia, campylobacter, streptococcus?"

"Allison," He sounded puzzled, "when I said that I could speak the language now, I didn't mean all medical terms. And certainly not at three in the morning."

"Before your first attack, did you have a virus, like a flu, or undergo any vaccination?"

"Don't tell me you're going through my history instead of sleeping." Cameron clearly heard the warning notes in her dad's voice that appeared there every time he was going into a protective mode. Apparently, the fact that she wasn't resting bothered him more than the essence of her question, even though it pertained to his own health. She couldn't help smiling a bit.

"Dad, please. I promise, I'll rest, just answer this."

"It's been more than a year now, not that I remember."

"You were coughing when I called you two weeks before my wedding."

"Let me think about it…" He went silent for a moment and Cameron held her breath, waiting for his next words. "At the trial, one of the witnesses was sick, coughing and sneezing."

"You used this excuse when I came to you before Thanksgiving to cover Rebif's side-effect. Are you doing it again?" Cameron needed to make sure before she would allow herself to consider a possibility that was currently lingering in her mind.

"Then it was an excuse, but when you had called before your wedding, the whole catching-a-cold-from-a-witness thing had been true."

Cameron closed her eyes for a moment. To test her theory she would need more information, which she was lacking at the moment. She wondered why:

"Why didn't you do a new MRI or tests after the second attack? It's a requirement to periodically…"

"We've been through this before, Allison." He gently cut her off. "Taking injections was a pretty big step in itself, you know. Plus, I'm sure there would be plenty of this crap after…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but Cameron knew what he meant: when the MS would progress. She realized that her dad was scared of the prospects, like any other patient. Like her. Her father sighed:

"So far it's been…. well, playing pretend is easier, you know."

"I know." She knew all too well, because her late husband had hated visits to doctors and tests, found every possibility to skip them before things had deteriorated and there had been no other option but stay in a hospital.

"I've had," her dad sighed, and Cameron felt that the next words wouldn't come easy to him, "to take a second lawyer on all my cases, not to endanger my clients, should something happen. That was more humiliating than any tests."

She could have started proving that tests were essential for monitoring the MS progress, especially since it had been more than a year since the attack. She could have questioned the professionalism of his doctor, who, apparently, hadn't been persuasive enough. Though Cameron knew how difficult it was to out-argue her dad once he made up his mind, talk of years of legal practice. She could have said a lot of things, but his last admission stopped her in her tracks. Engrossed with the medical consequences, she had barely registered how devastating and it was the right word – humiliating - it could be professionally.

"So you did have a flu?" Cameron mentally slapped herself for being carried away with emotions. There were too many of them already, she had to maintain at least a semblance of self-possession. She had a theory and needed to check it out, all other thoughts, especially negative ones, had to be banned for now.

"Yes. I did."

"Thanks, good night, dad."

"Night, kid."

Cameron shut her cell and ran a hand over her face as she tried to catch her breath, realizing when she took her hand down that it was shaking.

The next day she went to the tech room and asked to enhance the scans. While waiting for new images, Cameron was thinking over her idea. Too elusive and far-fetched, and too easily shattered - one look at better scans would be enough. That's why she wished the time sped-up and slowed-down at the same time: letting go of a hope, however fragile it could be, was never easy for her.

**

_Author's note: Cameron's theory will be explained in the next chapter. _

_I am very grateful to my readers for their interest in the story. Thank you for comments, I appreciate your opinion. _


	8. Chapter 8

**

Chapter 8

**

Cameron looked at her watch: half past three in the morning. The whole day went by in a blur of checking the scans and trying to find logical reasoning to substantiate her theory. It would be terribly impolite to call at such an hour, but House had never been the one to bother about pleasantries. On second thought, he could be with Cuddy now, and her call could interrupt… Cameron didn't want to go there. Anyway, he had meddled with her personal life with much more disastrous consequences; one call wouldn't do any harm.

"I was kinda busy, you know." He finally picked up. His voice sounded sleepy, so whatever he had been doing, it was over before she called.

"It'll take only a few minutes." Still, she hurried to justify herself, hoping that House wouldn't hang up on her. Then she heard the faint sound of his cane and later a barely discernible "thud" of a closing door, which meant that he had just limped into another room.

"I knew you'd be jealous, but didn't think you'd take it this far."

"Not everything is about you, House."

"Not what you said in my office while quitting." He sounded strangely serious, and Cameron wondered why he still couldn't let it go, he should have forgotten about her words, just like he always did, facing something uneasy. Meanwhile, House continued sarcastically: "It's good you're an atheist, otherwise you'd burn me in the inquisition flames for all my cardinal sins."

And here his deflecting appeared, just like she expected. Cameron composed herself, she had more pressing issues to deal with. Before she could start, he asked, as if reading her thoughts:

"So what are you shooting at: Lupus, antiphospholipid syndrome, Lyme disease, Guillain-Barré? And screw the symptoms, just cross them out."

"I think it's ADEM."

"Come again?" House was clearly surprised.

"Acute disseminated encephalomyelitis."

"I know what it is, Cameron." He sounded irritated, and then muttered. "You think… Sure you would."

"Why?" She gripped her cell, waiting for him to shatter her theory in pieces, which he started doing immediately:

"Because of all other options you had to chose something immune mediated, the least probable one, but with greater chances of recovery."

But maybe she needed this kind of challenge, if she could convince House, there would be a chance that she was right. At least she could try:

"It isn't impossible."

"He's 6o something, not 6."

"It does happen with adults."

"Less than 3% of cases."

"As if statistics ever mattered to you."

"But logic does. For starts, ADEM usually occurs after a viral infection or vaccination."

"The patient had the flu a week before the symptoms appeared."

"How come you're telling me this only now?"

"I've just got the full history."

"Well, it might be related, or might be not."

"Sure, and an increased white cell count is just an increased white cell count." She didn't mean to, but she almost perfectly imitated the sarcastic tone, which House had used asking her about the reason behind Sebastian's cancelled visit to Princeton. "And by the way, I mean it: there were increased lymphocytes in the spinal fluid."

"You must be an immunologist or something." Cameron could clearly imagine him smirking at this point. Meanwhile, House continued: "So it's still not enough. Once again, what was there about the second attack?"

"It happened three weeks after the first one. I think it was a relapse of ADEM, the timing fits."

"It seems to fit, here's the difference." House was silent for a moment and then said: "I know what you think: the first course of steroids wasn't enough, the idiotic docs overlooked it, discharged the guy and the relapse happened. But you still can't prove that it wasn't MS."

"No new attacks, no deterioration."

"Hate to say it about anyone but myself, but he's a lucky bastard. So far."

She suddenly had a feeling that House was disagreeing just to test her, trying to gauge her reaction. She needed him to concentrate on the case, not the puzzle of her obsession here. Cameron asked in frustration:

"You're refusing the diagnosis because it's impossible, or because it's me?"

"Not everything is about you." Cameron briefly wondered whether repeating and twisting each other's words would always be the defensive mechanism they both would use. House mockingly continued: "Astonishing, isn't it?"

"It's naïve and caring me. So I must be looking for something that isn't there, right? Just like with Cindy."

"Who?" House seemed genuinely surprised, small wonder, he hardly remembered the names of his patients. Let alone the name of the terminal cancer patient whose case he had refused to take, since it had been too obvious.

"Doesn't matter." She saw no point in reminding him how he had preferred to teach her a lesson then, in his own, abrasive way. In fact, much later, already working in the ER, Cameron had realized that he had done her a favor. She couldn't change herself and stop empathizing with her patients, but she had come to terms with the fact: there were things which couldn't be changed, sometimes acceptance was the only way. But now, with the threat of a loss affecting her personally, she couldn't come to acceptance, as long as there was still the slightest hope.

"What are you waiting for? My blessing?"

"Your opinion. You're still a diagnostician, remember?"

"You're pushing for autoimmune, seems like you've already made a choice."

"You aren't going to help, are you?" Cameron gripped her cell tightly; maybe it was a mistake to call him in the first place.

"Finally! You get it." He spoke these words with exaggerated relief. "You used to take hints better."

"Okay, sorry for disturbing you." She had a hollow feeling, while what was left of her good memories was shattering in a million of pieces. House had changed irreversibly; she was a fool for still believing otherwise. This case wasn't a puzzle good enough for him, her arguments…. Well, they were hers – too optimistic to be true. Cameron sighed: it was painful, almost like saying goodbye in his office.

A moment later his voice, still skeptical but moderately interested, pulled her out of these thoughts:

"What about demyelination? You wouldn't come up with ADEM if you didn't have other leads."

"That's the point." She felt a sudden relief. House finally started thinking about medical details rather than personal ones, the thrill of catching an elusive diagnosis always attracted him, after all. His question was reassuring, because she already had an answer:

"The scans I got were inconclusive, so I had them enhanced. Seems like it involves the superficial white matter, at the junction with the gray one."

"While MS should've affected the deep or periventricular white matter. Not bad." He seemed slightly impressed, then he paused, thinking over something. "But, ouch, you still have oligoclonal bands."

"They… rarely, but they might be present in ADEM. And the last test was conducted a year ago."

"And you think that they've miraculously resolved. You're a believer, Cameron." He seemed sarcastic, but no more than usual, which could be a good sign. "If you stick to your diagnosis," House sounded uncharacteristically serious, not a hint of mocking this time, and Cameron suspected that there would be either a final blow to her theory, or... She didn't dare to believe until she heard him say:

"Then go for it."

The funny thing was that only after his words Cameron clearly realized that she would have done it anyway, no matter what he would have said. She had matured as a doctor, after all. But this barely distinguishable encouragement was a relief, maybe the greatest one she had in the suffocating nightmare of the last several days. That's what she had been looking for: not his medical advice, but a glimpse of support, because she felt utterly lonely.

"I would've, anyway." She smiled. "No old lesions in the brain, only recent ones."

"An ace up your sleeve. Then why did you call?"

"Old habits, House, old habits."

"You know that a third of patients with ADEM do develop MS, right?" Apparently, House had to bring her back to Earth right now. Maybe it was his way of warning her not to get her hopes up so as not to feel the pain of disappointment later.

"I know." So far it was all she could master. She was aware of the fact, but preferred not to think about it.

"So even if you're right, it'll buy the guy just several years before everything turns ugly. He'll be older, so if MS develops at that time, the progress will be far more rapid."

"But there is a chance that it won't."

"Damn it, you're still the most naïve atheist I've ever met. Just so you know: it's easier to have a definitive answer instead of being stuck in limbo."

"Where did it come from?"

"ADEM will leave things up in the air, while MS gives a clear picture. A shitty one, but clear."

Cameron wondered whether he realized that he had just put into words a fundamental difference in their attitude to life, personal, at least. Taking chances and losing had been painful: her almost something with House and the failed relationship with Chase made it strikingly obvious, but she doubted that not taking a chance at all would have spared her any pain and regrets.

"What's so special about this case?" Apparently, House simply couldn't let it go.

Cameron knew very well that House didn't like being left out of the loop, even about something that was none of his business. Keeping him in the dark, she had managed to fuel his interest and curiosity, and he had listened to her arguments, even accepted some of them in his own way. Had he known that the patient was her father, he probably wouldn't have taken seriously her suggestion about ADEM, ascribing it to her desperation rather than logical reasoning.

"I tend to fall for lost causes, remember?" She could still need his help or advice if it turned out that she was wrong, so she had to keep him hooked somehow.

"Damn, you're good."

She didn't know what to answer, but House made a choice for her, preferring to turn the conversation away from difficult questions. There had been more than enough of them tonight. He said smugly:

"Not bad for the old fella: two threesomes in several days. Though I always pictured it in a different way..."

"What?" For a moment she had forgotten that House must be with Cuddy now, clearly, not in the same room at the moment, but in the same apartment for sure. Yet now even this dirty comment was strangely comforting, not due to its sense, of course, but because it was familiar – old habits do die hard.

"House, spare me the details."

"It's you who has such timing."

"Whatever. Thank you."

Cameron closed her cell. She didn't intend to go home, opting for another night on coffee instead. Anyway, she wouldn't be able to sleep until she found out whether her theory was right, or not. She spent the rest of the night, preparing all necessary materials and printing out research data to talk with Dr. Johnson first thing in the morning.

**  
Cameron was hanging the MRI scans on the screen in the Dean of Medicine's office, as Dr. Johnson himself and Dr. Tyler, head of the Neurology department, were standing near her. This part of the office, created and equipped so that the Dean could properly study the details of a case before giving his consent for a procedure, was separated by the adjourning door from "the official space" where he received sponsors and other visitors. Dr. Johnson was looking through the results of the blood work and reports on the reaction to steroids administered to manage the attack.

"Dr. Tyler," Cameron asked the neurologists when she finished. "Could you come closer?"

"Sure."

When he neared the screen, Cameron pointed at the brain lesions on the MRI.

"They aren't old, I may be wrong, but they seem to be more or less of the same age."

"True. Though typically MS causes brain lesions before symptoms become obvious, so what we see here is unusual. But… other options that could fit were ruled out. There were oligoclonal bands in the spinal fluid, steroids worked, which proves the diagnosis. When was the second attack?"

"In three weeks, less severe, steroids once again." Dr. Johnson answered, checking the file.

"The timing between episodes can vary, there are no definitive intervals." Dr. Tyler shook his head. "Though most of my patients, especially at the first stages of MS, usually have larger intervals between the attacks."

"Or it could've been one attack, insufficiently managed and relapsed." Cameron tried to suppress her anxiety. "Then we don't have the required two episodes, and thus the red flag in diagnosing is out."

"Dr. Cameron, you know that all criteria are relative." Dr. Johnson seemed contemplative. "They chose a diagnosis, based on other symptoms as well, though I would've waited for a new attack to make sure."

"It's been a year and a half," Dr. Tyler was looking through the history, "almost complete recovery: sensory, motor functions, vision. No new episodes. But the patient experiences difficulties with the drugs: switched them several times. So, as for flu-like symptoms and headaches - the former can be a side-effect and the latter… in this case it can well mean a MS symptom. Yet still drugs work – no relapse and no deterioration so far. I would've expected MS to progress sooner."

"That's what doesn't fit. I know it seems unlikely, but…" Cameron took a deep breath and continued: "The patient had the flu two weeks prior to the attack, was put on steroids to manage the episode, a rather short course, as you see," she pointed at the line in the history. "Then, three weeks later, there was another attack, once again, managed with steroids. Since then- gradual recovery, almost no residual damage. Though the side-effects of drugs seem more prominent than usual."

Cameron nervously brushed away a strand of hair that fell from her ponytail.

"I think it's ADEM." She hurried to finish, before she would be interrupted. "Prior viral infection can cause an attack. ADEM is an immune reaction to the infection with the immune system causing inflammation in the central nervous system."

"And then the inflammation in the brain or spinal cord damages myelin." Dr. Johnson seemed to read her mind.

"MS exhibits demyelination of the deep or periventricular white matter. ADEM involves the superficial white matter, often at the junction with the gray one – that's what we see here." Cameron pointed at scans once again. "It's just more evident on the enhanced scans. As for oligoclonal bands, they're common in MS, sure, but in rare cases they might be present in ADEM. However, they usually resolve when ADEM resolves."

Cameron took a deep breath recalling her scattered cups of coffee and the lump of sugar, which had not dissolved in the lukewarm liquid. "_Dissolve-disappear- resolve_" - that was a strange, unexplainable association, but that's what had set her thinking. She went on:

"The patient hasn't had any tests after he was discharged. A lumbar puncture might show that they had resolved. As for the second attack, I guess that the first course of steroids wasn't enough, so they dealt with a relapse of ADEM. And… you've seen that there are only recent lesions."

"ADEM lesions tend to gradually improve over months." Dr Tyler was scrutinizing the MRI brain scan once again.

"But no new MRI has been done so far, thus it's possible that they have improved."

"If we do new MRI scans and see that lesions have improved," Dr. Tyler said, "then we will need new lumbar puncture to check oligoclonal bands. If the results are inconclusive, well, then a brain biopsy might also be necessary to make absolutely sure that we're dealing with ADEM."

"ADEM is more common with children, and very rare with the patients of this age group, you know it that, right?" Dr. Johnson asked, looking at her sympathetically.

Cameron crossed her arms over her chest as she answered:

"Yes."

"You remember that ADEM can well progress into MS?"

"Yes."

"And you also know that most cases of misdiagnosing ADEM for MS happen with adolescent patients. So, for a patient over 60, it's nearly impossible."

"Yes." She could be proud of herself: her voice didn't even falter, although she felt the tightening in her throat.

Dr. Johnson nodded.

"I needed to make sure you know the odds. Refer the patient here for a checkup, we'll run the tests."

"Thank you."

**

_I once again sincerely apologize for any medical inconsistencies you can find in this chapter. _

_ADEM usually occurs following a _viralinfection_ but may appear following _vaccination_, _bacterial_ or _parasitic_ infection, or even appear spontaneously. ADEM is a diagnosis that falls, along with MS, under the category of inflammatory autoimmune disease of the CNS. Therefore, its signs and symptoms may appear very similar to, if not indistinguishable from, MS. What is important about distinguishing ADEM from MS is not so much the immediate medical management, since ADEM is also treated using intravenous steroids, but in the prognosis. ADEM is only a single neurologic event without progressive and recurrent symptoms and, therefore, can have a much more favorable long-term prognosis. Approximately 25% of the ADEM cases, however, are actually the beginning of MS._

_**Thanks to all my readers for following the story and reviewing it. Reading your comments makes my day. I sincerely hope you will further enjoy the story.**_


	9. Chapter 9

**

Chapter 9

**

Seven months into the relationship he had obsessed over, House was content, which would be the most suitable word. The lack of appropriate adjectives had never been a problem with him, but when he tried to diagnose his current state of mind, words failed him. Not that the words wouldn't come, on the contrary, they flashed in his head, but every so often they were different from the ones he could have expected. That was unsettling, just like something didn't fit in a perfect puzzle he created, threatening to destroy a theory at any moment. So "content" was the safest, at least it didn't distort the truth… too much.

He had moved in with Lisa, finally leaving Wilson alone at his place, but threatening to come back, should his friend get some stupid ideas like marrying the first needy woman he would meet. Wilson seemed to take the hint, and so far didn't have anything too serious on the horizon.

House was living with Cuddy, though this time he had waited for her to mention moving in, still mindful of his rushed offer in the wake of the hallucination. In fact, it didn't take her long to make this move: a month to be exact. Honestly, he had thought that testing him would take her longer. But it only served to prove that he was right: despite all her previous denial, Lisa had always wanted it and was happy with how things turned out eventually. Not that it all was about testing a theory, but he had always enjoyed the thrill of being right all along.

There were many upsides in their relationship. Lisa was beautiful, intelligent, witty and strong. Not that he hadn't known it before. Sometimes House wondered why it had taken him so long to give it a shot. They had good sex, entertaining banter, plus her cooking was fine, although he believed that he did it better. Rachel was amusing enough and seemed to see a big buddy in him. The same levels of maturity and all…

Though living together could be rocky at times. Maybe he and Lisa both were too much of creatures of habit, unwilling to concede. The latter was a particularly sensitive issue with them, the more so as professional inextricably mixed with personal. Intentionally or not, they both wanted to call the shoots. Like when Lisa was the one who insisted on telling his mother that they were dating while he wanted to do it on his terms. He used to enjoy their face-offs and power plays, but now it all had become much more complicated and loaded.

Sometimes he got an unnerving feeling that Lisa was expecting him to change further, just because they were in a relationship now. She of all people should have understood that the world, and more importantly – he didn't work this way. He usually avoided such thoughts, they made him feel uncomfortable, and on the long list of things he disliked, it rested somewhere near the top.

He still kept his old place leased. Not that anything was wrong between him and Lisa, just somewhat suffocating at times.

His apartment was relatively unchanged, save for the stashes of Vicodin and Morphine which were thrown away. Either by Wilson or by Lisa, though she would have bugged him about it, so Wilson was a more likely suspect. Another change was the lack of his piano that currently resided at Lisa's, she had insisted and he had joked about her taking his baby a hostage. The joke wasn't particularly well-received. He thought of buying a second one, but that would mean having a too tempting recovery base, and by the way, he hated military metaphors.

Those were the moments when, from time to time, his mind mockingly told him that there, indeed, had been reasons why it had taken him so long to give this relationship a shot. But a mental "shut up" usually did the trick, preventing him from dwelling on the thought.

House didn't look up from the screen of his Game-boy, when he heard the door open and the all-too familiar sound of the heels invade the silence of Comma guy's room. He only looked up when a pair of feet appeared in front of him. His gaze moved slowly upwards, past the familiar tight black skirt and the revealing blouse, up to the pursed lips and irritated gaze of his boss and lover. Obviously, this time the boss prevailed.

"Are you going to hide here forever?"

"Yup, if forever means thirty minutes until the evil clinic duty expires."

"We've been through this before, Greg. Don't make it embarrassing: people think that I let you do whatever you want only because we're together."

"Funny, but that's what I always did. And that's what you always did."

"I'm still your boss."

"Such a stunning discovery. Last time I checked you've been for more than ten years now."

He knew he would have to stop pissing her off, since he didn't fancy the idea of spoiling yet another evening. He stood up from the chair. After all, he could always keep one patient in an exam room for an hour or so and then give that idiot something for the flu.

"OK, I'm coming."He pouted. "Hope I won't commit suicide after I'm done with these idiots."

"Don't joke like that." Lisa's face fell at his last words.

She genuinely cared, that he knew for sure, and she had tried to talk about his past problems, constantly repeating that it would be healthy for them. What she hadn't considered, however, was that such talk could never be forced. He liked being in control, so the fact that he would be the one who would decide to open up mattered. House needed to come there on his own, Nolan and Wilson knew it, rarely pushing him and letting him direct a conversation to things that bothered him. Hell, even Cameron had learned her lesson after their date.

Frowning slightly at the last thought, House decided to end the conversation as soon as possible, and that was exactly what would be healthy for them.

"Stop worrying," House took Cuddy's hand in his, rubbing her skin with his thumb. The motion seemed to do the trick as she relaxed, looking at him. He smirked: "Been there, done that, don't want to repeat it."

"Don't forget about the reception." Now Lisa was back in her usual boss mode, which he liked much better.

"You know that I hate these things. Plus, the guy is an idiot." And his leg was aching, even more so as he imagined that he would have to go somewhere in a tux, listen to deadly-boring conversations and wouldn't even have a chance to sneak off to a bar and wait there till the evening was over.

The only consolation was that, unbeknownst to Lisa, he had already devised a plan aimed to make the looming torture a little bit entertaining for him and a lot more embarrassing for the most annoying guests. He would need only to pick victims and make sure that he wouldn't be suspected. Still, this scheming felt more like treating the symptoms, rather than the illness, and he hated doing it. Maybe if he pushed Lisa, he wouldn't have to go in the first place. The problem was that pushing too much on professional issues ended up in a mess in his personal life. Things used to be easier.

"He's our donor, Greg, it's common sense..."

"The problem with common sense is that most people are morons, you know."

"You have to be there."

"Got a case."

"Not that I heard of."

House knew that this could go on forever: he'd learned all the phases of their arguments long ago. Suddenly clinic duty didn't seem such a terrible idea. It was easier to concede and treat the symptoms. For absolutely the wrong reasons: self-preservation and weariness rather than understanding, but no one tried to analyze his motives these days, not even Lisa. He reluctantly said:

"Ok. But I hope your dress is revealing enough."

"It is." She seemed relieved.

Limping to the clinic, he himself was anything but. Luckily, the feeling was short-lived, for he was always good at finding distractions: storming into Wilson's office and creating a mess there, playing with his team, pissing off nurses, watching soaps… But he had already messed with the team enough for the one day, had already made two nurses cry, General Hospital was to start in only an hour, and to top it all - Wilson was away for a friend's wedding. The Boy Wonder must be teaching the groom 'the cheating for a newbie' course or something. Anyway, bugging him was also out of question, thus House needed a new case, the sooner the better.

**

Cameron was mentally counting the minutes until decency would allow her to leave. The ceremony had already ended, so now she had to wait at least two hours at the reception and that would be it. Not that she didn't like the party or wasn't glad for her colleague, but it was the first wedding she had attended since her own one with Chase, so uninvited and still painful memories would flare up every now and then. Funny thing was that she didn't even know the groom well enough, but he was eager to share "this happy moment" with most of his colleagues at the hospital and somehow she ended up receiving an invitation. The abovementioned decency or the tendency to be "sickeningly nice", as House would have said, hadn't let her refuse to come.

Cameron took a sip of champagne and started walking to her table when she heard a voice that seemed familiar. She stopped for a moment, but deciding that it was just a figment of her imagination, wanted to continue her way through groups of guests, when she heard it again:

"Cameron?"

She turned around to see that her mind wasn't playing tricks on her and, indeed, it was Wilson. Cameron felt somewhat uncomfortable. She had always liked James, after Amber's death they had become closer for some time, but then he started drifting away. She knew what he had been going through, so his desire to distance himself hadn't surprised her. At first being with someone who, having the same experience, could truly understand what you felt would help: this strange, agonizing, twisted kind of bond would be a life raft in a sea of pitiful glances and hushed whispers. But then it would become unsettling: knowing that someone had been through the same pain and still survived would mean that one day your turn to move on would come, even if now you didn't want to, afraid to taint the memory thereby. That person could help you to go through depression, but coming to acceptance would be something to do on your own. Cameron had felt the slight change in Wilson's behavior even before he realized it himself, and she had given him space. She had only hoped he would get better, which he had, eventually. He remained a friend and a colleague, but they had never reached the same level of closeness again, and sometimes Cameron regretted it.

And now she was unsure of how to behave around him, though this time she feared that their talk would wake up her own demons as well as his.

"Oh, Wilson…" Cameron smiled sincerely. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too, it's been a while, I haven't heard from you since..." He must have sensed her tense momentarily, as he unwittingly stirred up her memories, so he didn't finish the sentence and, keeping the tone as casual and light as possible, asked instead: "So, the bride or the groom?"

"The groom, he's the head of Oncology in my hospital. You?"

"Also the groom, we went to University together." Wilson put his hands in his pockets in a very familiar gesture. "I tried telling him that inviting me would be a bad omen, but he didn't listen."

"No kidding, I tried the same."

Wilson smiled at her attempt of play along with his joke. Cameron absent-mindedly noted that though Wilson topped her on the number of marriages, she had set the record on the duration. Hardly an achievement to be proud of…

"Now they have two of us at the ceremony, pity, the guys are doomed." Wilson light-heartedly smirked.

"On the other hand, maybe together we will bring them luck."

"Allison, you're an optimist."

Luckily, Wilson didn't try to turn the conversation to more sensitive topics, like Princeton and everyone there, maybe he was waiting for her to ask a question or do something that would indicate that she didn't mind talking about it. But Cameron was reluctant to do so, because any question would lead to uncomfortable pauses, with her trying to guess how much Wilson knew about the consequences of her departure, and him trying to spare her feelings by avoiding any mention of Chase or House. Somehow it was easier to make small talk: the ceremony, the best man's lackluster speech and other trifles, - this way she wouldn't have to mentally think over her words so as not to let out too much.

Sometime later Cameron even relaxed, realizing that she was genuinely glad to see Wilson here. And then an idea of asking him for advice crossed her mind. So far she hadn't discussed the proposition she had received with anyone, since few people could understand her doubts, but Wilson knew her strengths and weaknesses as a doctor, maybe even shared some of these features. He would be honest with her. Cameron carefully started:

"Our Dean wants me to lead one of the research groups." She was saying these words aloud for the first time, and they sounded strange to her ears. Just as strange as when Dr. Johnson had notified her that the current head of that group would resign in two months for family reasons. "Is not as big as a department, but still…"

"Congratulations." He slightly saluted her with a glass he took from the waiter.

"I," her voice trailed off for a moment. "I haven't accepted yet."

"Why?" Wilson seemed surprised. "It's a great opportunity, and you've been in charge before, so you know the responsibility and…"

"It isn't that much about responsibility, I'm not afraid of taking it, but…. It isn't right. I may be an idiot, but somehow I feel that I haven't earned it."

She wasn't sure whether Wilson would understand, but that feeling mattered, it was unsettling, a bit stinging, and even if the others didn't see it, Cameron knew that it was there, and would be, until she found peace with herself. The same feeling that made her point out her own mistake in a test to her teacher who had missed it and given her an A.

She went on:

"Dr. Johnson, our Dean, was satisfied with my work, content, even. But we, well, I had a case some time ago, it seemed rather obvious, but I pushed for another diagnosis. An optimistic one, with better chances of recovery. Eventually it turned out that I was right."

"So far I see only good here." Wilson frowned a little, apparently, knowing that there must be a catch he still had to find, years of guessing House's much more twisted motives would do it to a man.

"I didn't push this diagnosis for professional reasons. I mean, sure, as a doctor I felt that something might be wrong and looked for it, but…." She looked down at her glass of light-gold champagne recalling yellow post-it notes on the blue wall. "James, I wanted something to be amiss, in this very case I refused to accept the facts, just couldn't. That's why I started looking for any possible explanation. "

"Still, you were right." Wilson seemed puzzled by her reasoning. He looked at her for a few minutes and then understanding crossed his features as he asked: "Are you afraid that you won't go to the same lengths for other patients?"

Cameron looked him in the eye, nodding slightly.

"Allison," He smiled in relief, as if he had been expecting something much more serious than this."From what I know about you… Refusing to give up – that's the way you are. You want to save patients, and you do fight till the end. Eventually you can get hurt if you lose, but that's not the point here."

"And what's the point?"

Instead of answering, Wilson asked her:

"How long since that case?"

"Seven months or a bit less, why?"

"Well, I think that even if your boss was impressed with that case, he took time to test you further, plus… let me do the math… You must've worked there before the case for more than half a year, right?"

Cameron nodded and Wilson went on:

"Believe me, there is never only one factor in promotion, it's your entire record that matters, not one or two cases."

"I wish you were right."

"You know what House would say?" Wilson made a funny face trying to imitate House. "Go grab a better salary and a bigger office and stop this self-analyzing crap."

Cameron couldn't help laughing, for the first time realizing how glad she was that she had accepted the invitation to this wedding.

"Okay," Wilson looked around, scanning the surroundings almost like a professional spy at a new location. He confidently said, smirking a bit sadly: "They are going to throw the bouquet and the garter in a few minutes. With my luck, I'm gonna catch the latter, which I don't want to do."

"And I'm afraid to catch the bouquet." Cameron knew that she wouldn't even approach a group of hopeful girls trying to catch it, but for some irrational reason feared more than anything that that small bunch of white tulips would accidentally land somewhere near her. She didn't believe in omens that much, but the possible meaning of this one terrified her, because in her life a marriage meant the beginning of the end. Though at the moment she didn't even have a relationship to begin with, but still…

Wilson's voice echoed her thoughts:

"Then let's get out of here while we still have a chance."

_**_

_**Thanks to everyone who **__**reviews the fic. Your opinion matters to me.**_

_Author'__s Note: About Cameron's promotion: it is not a position of a department head, for such promotions a doctor needs to have worked at least several years in a hospital and present stunning credentials. However, within a department, especially when it comes to hospitals conducting research, there can be several groups working on different topics. The hierarchy usually goes like this: a department head, faculty, several fellows and one or two grade students. Cameron became a member of the faculty instead of just a fellow._


	10. Chapter 10

**

Chapter 10

**

Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center was hosting a conference on multidisciplinary research, which would include seven sections of interest, lectures for doctors, researchers and students. The guests were expected to arrive on Sunday, have their workshops on Monday and Tuesday and leave Wednesday morning. Such were the facts. But the reality cast more shades of gray on a simple black-and-white print-out program of the conference.

Cameron had seen a guest list, even had helped to work it out, asking to invite several doctors who had recently published the articles she found promising for the work of her group on the pathogenesis of Inflammatory Bowel Disease.She knew it would be very interesting for her guys to listen to them.

True, she had seen the list, and the name 'Dr. Gregory House' on it; he was even scheduled to give a lecture. But for all she knew, House was unlikely to grace them with his presence. To be on the safe side, Cameron decided to tentatively bring up the conference during one of her phone conversations with Wilson. Luckily, the opportunity presented itself when Wilson called to update her on how their little plot of messing with House was working out.

The plot was fairly simple and harmless, it didn't even start as a prank in the first place, but House with his desire to know everything about everyone, especially his best friend, had unwittingly turned it into one. After the wedding where Cameron had met Wilson, they kept in touch, and one day she had sent him a tie as a present for his birthday.

Her father had once told her that he could change up to three ties during a day if he had to attend different hearings: "You see, kid, doctors change latex gloves, lawyers change ties." According to her dad it had something to do with the composition of the jury for each and every case. Though she didn't pry into the rationale behind this statement, from time to time she liked presenting her dad new "lucky ties", granted, he already had plenty of them. Anyway, such a gift had seemed appropriate for Wilson.

The only problem was that the ever inquisitive House had immediately registered a new tie in his friend's wardrobe. According to House, the fact that the tie didn't seem hideous enough to keep up with Wilson's standards could mean only one thing – someone, most likely a would-be Mrs. Wilson the Fourth, had given it to him as a present. Needless to say, House's curiosity sparked immediately. A simpler explanation about a female friend didn't fit into House's picture. Cameron sometimes wondered when House would understand that the Occam's razor principle worked for people as well as medicine. It didn't help the matter that James had kept mum, while wearing new ties sent by her every week or two with no apparent reason other than to taunt House. It had been four months and the joke still didn't get old. Cameron couldn't help smiling when James related to her how House was trying to break into his credit card records trying to find something suspicious there.

Seeing how during this talk Wilson didn't mention House whining about being forced to attend any conference whatsoever, she decided that he would skip it, as always. The news was comforting, her routine of occasional phone conversations with House was easy, she didn't know what could happen, should she meet him in person.

Nevertheless, she checked the guest list on Friday only to find out House hadn't confirmed his participation. What a relief it was. She had just reached a fragile balance of her life and didn't want him to carelessly shatter it, or she didn't want herself to let him do it.

Still, Cameron had prepared her Plan B: she had made sure to have more than enough appointments to keep her busy while her fellows would attend lectures, had promised to help on a case in the Transplant Immunology department and intended to polish her new article. Everything to be as far as possible from the halls where work-shops were scheduled to take place.

But the very first hours of Monday proved the eternal wisdom about the best laid schemes often going astray. Instead of working as usual, Cameron had to sort out a mess in her group. She had suspected that something was wrong, but had gotten the proof only on Sunday: unexpected visits to security rooms can do wonders.

The ER had been different: although she used to coordinate other people's work, doctors there were largely independent. But now, heading her own group, which dealt with patient cases as well as theoretical research, she knew that it was she who bore ultimate responsibility for every case and every mistake, no matter who had committed it.

The day didn't start as planned and Cameron had a sickening feeling that it could get worse. Her accidentally torn lab-coat proved it.

Dr. Johnson cornered her on the second floor where she went to get a new lab-coat. They stopped in a hall, several feet away from doctors' rest room so as to have a little privacy. Holding the new coat still draped over her arm, Cameron abruptly looked around - it seemed to her that she had just heard a familiar voice cursing "the damn door". She must be imagining things.

"I've heard you've fired Rogers." Dr. Johnson pulled her out of her thoughts. It had barely been an hour since she did it: the grapevine in Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center could easily compete with the one at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"Is there any problem?" Out of habit, Cameron reached to cross her arms over her chest, but the coat draped over one arm didn't let her resort to this eternal protective gesture. "I had to, since he…"

"I already know what the reason was." Dr. Johnson didn't let her finish. "As the Dean I support your choice."

"Thank you."

"But as a friend I have to say it. You're checking every move of your group."

"I wouldn't have time for that, and it's not that I want to…"

The latter was not entirely a lie. She barely had any free time, throwing herself into work, which had become even more demanding since she had been promoted. Cameron did like her group, they were intelligent, creative, nice – once she would have rushed to call them friends. Yet, a nagging fear that one day someone would intentionally or not make a fatal mistake, forced her to check and recheck their actions from time to time. She tried to be as discreet as possible while doing it, unwilling to make her fellows think that she doubted their abilities. After all, it was about her own baggage rather than them.

"Allison?" Dr. Johnson's voice brought her back to reality; it certainly was not one of her best days. Cameron struggled to prevent her thoughts from running in a vicious circle: 'House, Princeton, Chase'. But for some reason today the task seemed almost impossible.

"Well, Rogers did mix up the tests; he knew it and said nothing. Three months of our work are wasted because of it." She tried to sound calm and composed to hide her sudden anxiety. Cameron wondered whether the Dean would think that she simply tried to reassert her power by firing one of her fellows. She didn't, not by a long shot.

"You made the right choice." Dr. Johnson said, as if sensing her doubts. "But tell me, was there any logical reason to believe that the results were mixed up? What made you rerun them and check video-tapes, no less?"

Seemed like her impromptu visit to the security room on Sunday hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I don't…" Her voice faltered for a moment, as she recalled Chase and the tests during Dibala's case. "Whatever my reason was… I was right."

Cameron didn't like the line she had just delivered to the Dean, for the logic behind it sounded achingly familiar. The vicious circle, indeed: she hadn't even noticed how House appeared in her thoughts one again. Though her underlying motive was to save a patient's life, while House would certainly enjoy a cat-and-mouse and catching-a-cheater part.

"Don't become paranoid, Allison." That was one of the changes that had gradually happened over the last year. She was on the first name basis with Dr. Johnson now, though Cameron knew that the Dean used her given name only in private, when he was going into a father figure mode. Her boss continued: "The guys haven't felt anything so far, but one day they will. They love working with you, but second-guessing them too much can…"

"I rely on them, but I'd rather check their actions than lose a patient."

"It's personal, isn't it?"

Cameron tried to control her face and, mastering the most polite and professional tone, answered:

"I promise, from now on, they will feel trusted. Is that all?"

"Very lawyerly of you. That's all."

Cameron nodded and started walking away.

**

Three hours later Cameron opened the door of her office only to find House, of all people, sitting in her chair, legs propped up her desk.

"I must be hallucinating." Cameron wasn't even sure that she said it aloud, until she heard her own voice as if from a distance.

For a brief moment memories, both good and bad, came flooding back to her, sending a tiny shiver down her spine. It was almost overwhelming; she wondered whether House would feel the same, if he was given a Vicodin right now. Facing an addiction after a long withdrawal could be overpowering, that she knew.

Locking her eyes with his, she realized that House looked almost the same, save for his hair that was longer since the last time she had seen him and the lines on his forehead that were a bit more prominent now.

"Hello to you, too." He sounded nonchalant, as if it was his office, as if she had not been away for more than two years, as if he expected her to update him on their latest patient and bring him a cup of coffee. House leaned back in her chair and continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "You did this for three years, I'm evening the score."

"I don't remember putting my legs on your desk." Cameron took a couple of steps toward him.

"Now that would've been fun."

"Will you get up?"

House waved his cane.

"Cripple here."

Cameron crossed her arms over her chest.

"Still clenching, I see." Nevertheless, he stood up and started limping to a visitor's chair, invading her personal space in the process. She had to throw back her head to hold his intense gaze, she had almost forgotten how much taller he was. Cameron had also almost forgotten the feeling: looking in his eyes that could see right through her. Trying to remain composed, she asked:

"How did you…"

"Since I haven't developed dyslexia yet, finding a door with 'Allison Cameron, M.D.' on it wasn't that difficult."

"You should be at the conference."

"I have more interesting things to do at the moment." House put both his hands on the handle of his cane.

"So, what's happened to the Cameron who…"

He sank into the visitor's chair as Cameron finally sat in her own. Meanwhile, he went on, trying to imitate her irritated voice from years ago. "Could actually trust another human being and wasn't an angry misanthropic son of a bitch? Okay, let's scratch the son part."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, I found a rest room on the second floor," Allison already knew where he was leading. Of all the places in the hospital, he had to be there. "Quite comfortable, you guys have got a great TV, by the way. The doors are crappy, though, open up every five minutes. But every time you get up to close it, you look around the hall, and guess whom I saw and heard… "

House had been here for barely five minutes and already was meddling with other people's business. Mindful that deflecting tended to fuel his interest even more, Cameron decided to give him something while sticking to short answers.

"There was a problem, we solved it. That's all."

Apparently, it wasn't enough to satisfy his curiosity:

"So which tapes did you check? Tell me there was something inappropriate."

"We have cameras in the labs; I saw my fellow making a mistake and then covering it up."

"And what happened with trusting people?"

"Someone taught me a lesson not to err on the side of trust."

"Finally!" He said with exaggerated relief in his voice.

"I'm not happy about it, you know."

"Are you ever?"

Cameron wondered how he could switch from mocking to serious things in no time. She wasn't prepared for this question, not after barely two minutes into their conversation. But there was no point in lying, so she answered:

"Almost was."

She needed to change the topic before House would start trying to put the pieces of his puzzle back together. Luckily, now she also knew where to push.

"What have you done this time? Did you have a fight with Cuddy?"

"Testing the waters? You'll need more to put moves on me." House wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm not, but you did something, as always."

"How do you know?"

"For starters, you hate conferences, unless there is an ulterior motive. Last time I remember you had some issues with Wilson and Cuddy. But now you're here, alone, without a babysitter."

"Decided to share my wisdom."

"Oh, please…"

"Oh, right - you know me better than anyone else. Don't flatter yourself, Cameron."

"I don't know the person you've become, maybe don't want to." A half-lie, a half-truth, difficult to say which one when she wasn't even sure herself. But Cameron hoped he would take a hint and leave her alone. Talking on the phone with him was easy, almost comforting, because she knew she could end it at any minute, could play make-believe, pretending that House hadn't changed that much or pretending that she didn't care any longer. Facing him was different - it would be dangerously easy to fall back into her old routine: the right and wrong; ethical dilemmas and the sanctity of human life; her fear for him; hidden meanings of his words that she might look for.

"Afraid to shatter another self-delusion?" House sarcastically asked while scrutinizing her like a specimen.

"Afraid to shatter what's left. The good memories, there are a few, but they're there."

"You're still pathetic…"

"When Stacey came back..." House narrowed his eyes and tightened his hold on the handle of his cane, his body language screaming "don't go there". Obviously, he had not expected her to lead their conversation there, but it was her only chance to force him to leave, and Cameron was willing to use it. Maybe time had taught her how to protect herself, after all.

She half-expected, hoped even that House would stride away from her office right now, because, pathetic as she was, Cameron still didn't want to continue the sentence and hurt him. Yet, House kept sitting in the chair. Apparently, he wanted to see how good she could be, treading into his territory. She had to finish what she had started:

"That's exactly what you did, maybe still do. You choose something from the past: not bad, still uncomplicated… And nurture it. Otherwise things turn too ugly." Cameron felt that she wouldn't be able to do it any longer, she hadn't become that good at hurting people. And… she was no longer sure whom she was referring to: him, her, or them both. It had to stop. "So let's call it quits, please. It was nice to meet you." Cameron rose, intending to walk him to the door, but House was still sitting in the chair.

"I have a doc to brainwash me, you know."

A moment later he pulled out his wallet, took a bill from it and extended it to her. Meeting her puzzled gaze, he shrugged:

"I'm kinda used to hour-long sessions of psychological crap, so keep going. Or…" He smirked. "I could add a hundred or two and you can play a nasty nurse."

"House, what do you need?" Cameron tiredly leaned back in her chair again, realizing that he had no intention of leaving.

"A hideaway." House smirked again, putting the money back into his wallet. "How's the MS guy?"

Cameron felt that he was looking for sore spots, trying to gauge a reaction and to have a revenge of sorts for her mention of Stacey.

"It was ADEM, House. MRI showed improvements, oligoclonal bands resolved."

"Don't get your hopes up: a third of all ADEM patients develop MS."

"You always have to do it to me, right?"

To crush hopes, to make her face the ugly truth, to tear away all self-delusions. Only this time he didn't need to – she knew the chances and future prospects too well. As a doctor, she realized that her dad could still get into this one-third category. But as a daughter, she hoped for the remaining 70%, and would hope until life would prove otherwise.

"I'm being rational." House looked at her, trying to read her expression. "And you'll break the pen." He pointed at the pen she was gripping so tight that the knuckles of her hands went white. She hadn't even noticed it. Before she could say something, House went on.

"You look older." There was no mockery, just a simple observation like at the differential, albeit his gaze was a little too intense.

"Such a gentlemen you are." She tried to smile, but felt that the gesture was rather nervous.

"I think it's the hair. This bun, or knot, or whatever you women call it."

House was right - she rarely wore her hair loose these days. It reminded her so much of the naïve girl she used to be.

"I wore it like this in Princeton."

"Nope." He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, tilting his face a bit closer to her. The desk still separated them, but Cameron felt as if it was non-existent now. House confidently said: "This one is deliberate, an 'I'm a professional, so get-off' kind." He smirked. "From a hooker to a teacher, but you went wrong here, guys have special fantasies, you know…" House wiggled his eyebrows.

"House, I've got work to do." She did, even had a pile of files on the desk and a fully filled list of appointments in her day-planner to prove it. Judging by the slight disorder in her papers, he had been snooping and was perfectly aware of the fact.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"What exactly?"

"Stuffed the day like you're the only doctor on the Earth."

"Then you know that I have to leave in," Cameron looked at her watch. "Five minutes."

She expected him to ignore her comment and stay, but House simply nodded and rose from the chair. She couldn't say whether a sudden feeling that hit her was one of relief or slight disappointment. That was un-House-like, maybe he had changed, at least a little bit. Started respecting the wishes of others…

"You owe me drinks." He said as he reached the door. So much for respecting her wishes.

"How come?"

"What, hospitality isn't a good enough reason? Or my charming self?"

"Sorry, but no."

"I helped you with the ADEM diagnosis."

"I already knew it."

"And still called, interrupting my beauty sleep, by the way."

Cameron sighed in defeat, realizing that she was about to make a huge mistake. She might as well get something out of it:

"On one condition, though."

"Wanna work for me again? I've kinda got a Full House, but if you and Thirteen start being an item, then…."

"You still have to give a lecture. Can you mention the Addison's case we had, the non-paralyzed patient?" Cameron wondered whether he would get the reference.

Their first case after he had come back to work after the shooting. The days he had been walking without the cane and even running thanks to Ketamin. The case that almost made him lose faith in his abilities, when Cuddy and Wilson had lied to him, but this part he would never find out. She was just glad one of them had revealed the truth, eventually.

"Why that one?" Although the expression of his face was unreadable, his voice sounded hoarse, that's how she knew that House understood all too well what case she was talking about.

"I need my fellows to learn a thing or two about impossible cases."

"And that would be?" House seemed to regain his usual sarcastic self. "Never giving up while caring about damaged ones? Is it a Mother Theresa prep school or something?"

"If you must know, that would be taking nothing at face value."

Cameron knew for sure that her team was still mulling over Rogers' actions and her decision to fire him. That's why she asked them to attend lectures and workshops in the first place. They wouldn't have been able to concentrate on patients or research today. She could at least distract them with an interesting case.

House cringed, but said:

"I might share my wisdom."

"I'm working till eight thirty today. There is a place across the street, Danny's, meet me there."

As House dramatically banged the door behind him, Cameron closed her eyes, heaving a sigh: the best laid schemes certainly went astray.

**

**Thanks to everyone who takes time to leave a comment. I appreciate your opinion. **


	11. Chapter 11

**

Chapter 11

**

House was looking down into a glass of scotch, which he hadn't touched yet. He didn't feel like drinking, but this setting had long become second nature to him: talk of old habits and his deeply held loathing of change. Plus, if he concentrated on the coldness of the glass, it might take his mind off another sensation: the throbbing in his thigh that was creeping into his conscience alerting all the senses that the agonizing pain would flare-up later. And then he would surely feel like drinking. It didn't help matters that he was out of his usual distractions at the moment.

Sometimes House wondered how much further he would manage to ignore the temptation to make an easy choice. It was still there, in the back of his mind, especially on evenings like this. He could almost feel the smooth plastic of the amber pill bottle under his fingertips, but every time he vigorously suppressed the phantom sensation.

He was in the bar Cameron had mentioned. The place was quiet, tidy, with only a few visitors hanging around. House inwardly smirked: he had taught her well. Even if you lose, do it on your terms – not that he lost often, but when it did happen, he preferred to call the shots. Seemed like Cameron had finally grasped the concept. Even conceding to have a drink, she made sure to have an escape route: the bar was close enough to the hospital that it didn't seem like a pick-up. Close enough to spot one of her new colleagues here, so she could always pretend to have another meeting. He could see right through her, or so he thought.

He traced the handle of his cane with his thumb. It was frustrating; he was no longer sure what to expect from her, and for the man who prided himself on always being able to read people and see through any façade they would put on, today with Cameron he found himself completely out of key. Not for the first time, actually. He had to find a way to put the pieces back together in a familiar and predictable picture, the sooner, the better. It must have been this urge and his ever burning curiosity that prompted him to manipulate Cameron into meeting him after work.

Earlier that day, closing the door of a newly-found rest room, he had noticed two doctors speaking. After years of ditching clinic duty, he could tell a hospital administrator from a mile-long distance, and the man was clearly one of them. The woman had turned her back to him: a fragile blonde, hair in a bun, all too professional, he would have bet that the buttons of a white turtleneck blouse had been buttoned all the way up, making the collar nearly suffocating. Which is why in his medical opinion, low necklines were more healthy, and clearly, much more enjoyable to look at. That little chat had hardly seemed worth his precious attention, but since General Hospital had been interrupted for commercials at the moment, he had decided to stay near the door a little longer than necessary as the woman had started proving something and…

Bingo!

It was the same voice that had tended to ask him ridiculous, naïve questions like "_I want to know how you feel… about me_." The same voice that more than two years ago had whispered "_There is no way back for you_" and "_Please, don't go any further_". The voice of the naïve and trusting girl he had hired and the disillusioned woman who quit, failing to suppress her tears for the others, rather than for herself. He tried to ascribe the latter to her pathetic and masochistic need to empathize and her self-righteousness, since obvious, pathetic motives made it easier to disregard the actions they lead to. But the reasoning didn't work - his mind stubbornly refused to put Cameron's last plea into the category of "useless crap". Though he would never admit it, of course.

Truth to be told, he didn't know which Cameron he'd expected to see. Maybe once again hoping, or chatting amiably with colleagues, or pathetically holding a patient's hand. But not a Cameron standing up for her decision to fire someone and justifying a paranoid act, no less.

House took Cameron in, as she entered the bar and started approaching him. He had been right in his previous conclusion, albeit not entirely: she didn't look older, rather seemed so. All buttoned up, even after work, and obviously tense.

In her office he couldn't quite put his finger on a subtle change, but now he nailed it: not that much physical, rather perceptional. If he hadn't known Cameron before, he wouldn't see a difference, wouldn't catch a crack in the perfect appearance. But he had, and the change seemed glaringly obvious: the air of naivety was gone. She used to regain that irritating hopeful look in her eyes after each and every bump in the road. Irritating as it used to be, it had also been strangely comforting. He had expected her to recover again, but apparently, he had underestimated the effect the Dibala case and the break-up with Chase had on her.

As Cameron sat on a stool near him, House made a point not to acknowledge her presence. She would be puzzled by this, and to his own surprise he realized that he somewhat missed messing with her. He wondered whether she still furrowed her eyebrows and opened her mouth a little bit when taken aback - the sight used to be amusing. Right, amusing would be the safest word. Unlike 'endearing'.

He began a mental countdown to see who would break the silence first. _One-two-three…_

"Okay, now that's really weird." _Nine. _Cameron didn't last long, though she certainly did better than he had expected. "Why did you ask me to come, if you don't even notice me?"

"Actually, it's you who chased me here." He chuckled at her evident surprise. And yes, she still wore that 'amusing' expression. "Danny's, meet me there - that's your line. Still can't resist a cripple?"

Cameron shook her head as if exasperated, but the corners of her mouth tilted upwards, which was a dead give-away: she enjoyed this, and maybe he did too. She pointedly looked at his glass:

"Still drinking scotch?"

"Still trying to heal me? It'll be a major turn-off for you, but my liver is immortal."

"I'm just trying to find out whether I'll have to call a taxi for you afterwards." She shrugged her shoulders.

"Sounds almost convincing." He waived his hand, skeptically dismissing her lame excuse. It was Cameron, she… had to care, about him, regardless of what he had and would tell about her being pathetic for not hating him.

Cameron ignored his comment and ordered water – a gesture he simply couldn't let go:

"Once again, you don't look like a schoolgirl anymore, they'll sell you alcohol."

She didn't answer, simply took the bottle from a barman and poured water in a glass. A moment later she asked:

"So how was the lecture?"

"That's the best you can come up with? Come on, Cameron, you used to be more inventive than that." He tilted his head to her, so that he could see tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose and her pupils widening slightly at their unexpected proximity and whispered in a conspiring tone. "Two more and you're out."

He smirked, content with her reaction, and leaned back. Meanwhile, Cameron heaved a sigh:

"Why are you here, House?"

"You practically pleaded me to come."

"I didn't!"

"You've got only one attempt left. Shoot."

"That's ridiculous."

"You're out then. My turn." He waited for her to object, but she didn't, which meant that he could call the shots, leading the conversation wherever he wanted to. He wondered why Cameron was letting him do this, she could have deflected, could have tried to make small talk or stick to medical topics, but she seemed to sense his mood – he had almost forgotten how unsettlingly observant she could be.

"So," he paused dramatically before going on: "how does it feel to be in charge?"

"And that's the best you can come up with?" She said, echoing his earlier comment.

"Clearly, power is intoxicating, even for you. I just want to know whether you're being paranoid and firing people because they remind you of Chase, overcompensating for being lied to by the ex."

"Or?" She asked quietly, predicting that "or" was bound to come.

Years ago, during their date, he had observed how her face fell instantly after his speech about self-delusions and charity cases, but now he couldn't see what effect his words had on her. Cameron's expression could mean too many different things at once: tension, weariness, irritation, curiosity, or something else. Either she had mastered the art of hiding her feelings, or he didn't hit her that hard. A tiny voice in his mind wondered why he was trying to kick Cameron off balance in the first place.

"Or you're just being hypocritical and have been, for a long time. Moral indignation is jealousy… with a halo. There are, or maybe were things you wanted to do, but couldn't, being too afraid of the consequences, and all your life you condemn those who actually took a chance." His eyes never left her face as he uttered those words. In fact, they weren't about that little incident with her fellow, rather it was the gist of his latest attempt to figure Cameron out. Being away from her, he hadn't had a chance to test this theory, but now he had a perfect opportunity.

He went on:

"So which is it?"

"And which one fits better?"

Cameron looked him in the eye, a tiny, tired smile on her face. He didn't answer, the sense of understanding lingered in the air between them: she knew what he was up to, from the very beginning.

"The ER was different, wasn't it?"

"True. Here it's… less chaotic, but exhausting and taxing all the same, maybe more."

"Being a boss has to be enjoyable. Gosh, haven't I taught you anything?"

"You have, but I'm an idiot, remember?"

"Why Boston?"

"Why are you asking now?

"Time is as good as any."

"I like losers, and the Red Sox seemed a good charity case."

"You're kinda a couple of years late: the guys won the World Series already."

She shrugged her shoulders, obviously unsure how to respond, unsure even what they were doing here.

"So my Bulls cap wasn't genuine. I'm hurt." To prove his point, House pouted as a child.

"It was, I bought it in Chicago while visiting my mom."

"I guess it was more like dropping the divorce bomb."

"Yeah." She took a sip of water.

"My three ducklings and the black one are fine, thanks for asking."

"House." Her voice sounded wary, a clear warning sign. Seemed like he hit a sore spot. Good. She said quietly but firmly: "I don't want to talk about your work."

"Jealous much? Don't want to hear about us saving lives?"

"Honestly?" She started scrutinizing the design on her water glass - some ridiculous Irish decoration that she seemed to find immensely entertaining. "I'm afraid to hear what happened during the process."

And that's how she nailed it. She had been away for more than two years, why did she have to be so annoyingly perceptive? He wanted to keep talking, Cameron seemed reluctant, but he had always been selfish, after all.

"Foreman's been plotting. Thirteen still works. Against the clock – in all senses. What?" He feigned innocence under her death glare. "That isn't work, that's personal. Wait till it gets to juicy personal."

"How's Wilson?"

"A would-be number four is _tie-ing _the knot. The woman is pure evil, Wilson has never sacrificed his ugly ties for anyone."

He thought she would jump at the chance to talk about safe things, like Wilson and the woman who held him on a leash, or rather on a tie, but Cameron didn't.

Instead she took a sip of water and asked.

"And Chase?"

"So much for your great love story… he moved on. By the way, do you want to know with whom?"

"I don't, but you'll tell me anyway, if only to rub it in." He was going to drop a sarcastic comment, but she went on before he could: "With Thirteen, I guess. And… that's good for him, isn't it?"

House didn't like her smile: too forced and too tired to belong to Cameron. Before the thought took root, a ghostly echo of her voice rebounded in his mind: _"We had a study in our new apartment,"_ - that last evening in the hotel. He shook his head, to clear both the thought and the memory.

"It was your decision to dump him."

"And I don't regret it. That was the only way." She wore that damn smile again.

"You're a masochist."

"I'm not, but he was." She shifted in her seat and asked. "Walked in on a threesome in your Department yet?"

He could have called her on this lame attempt to shift their conversation away from the sensitive topic, could start pushing... Yet he didn't. He would never admit that his meddling with her marriage might have been disastrous, but at least he would let her have this way-out.

"Still trying, but they've been sneaky."

"One day you'll manage."

"So where's the new charity case? Your boss seems too old, but you've always had a thing for older guys."

He expected Cameron to flush or start proving something, with her trademark determined and stubborn look, but she did neither. Instead she eyed him, somewhat surprised by the question he had already asked the last time they talked. He hoped she wouldn't get stupid ideas like looking for his hidden motives; it was curiosity, pure and simple. But Cameron didn't even get that expectant expression which she used to wear when she would try to decipher his words.

He didn't know what bothered him more: the fact that she no longer wanted to second-guess him, or that he still remembered her gestures and behavior all too well. But, on second thought, he had always been perceptive and had a brilliant memory, so no surprise that he remembered such things. At least the latter seemed the most convenient explanation.

Meanwhile Cameron answered impassively:

"Work dating sucks, I've learned my lesson."

"No kidding." He took a gulp of scotch, deep in his own thoughts. Mixing personal and professional could be volatile, that he knew. Though, he had also learned that everything would calm down, eventually. It would take a few days, or a stupid conference with a lecture – a perfect excuse to give him and Lisa the much needed time and space, and everything would be back to normal. As normal as it could be, anyway.

When House looked at her again, he could tell that her own thoughts had drifted and something was nagging her. Cameron bit her lip for a moment, then took a deep breath:

"What is it about men and disappointment?"

"Well, you see, when a man reaches a certain age, a little blue pill is the only…"

"House, please."

"Ok, but be more specific. Contrary to what you think, I'm not omniscient."

"I mean… what is it about lying for fear of disappointing? Or is it about their egos?"

"Now that was utterly sexist. I'm hurt."

She looked at him expectantly, obviously waiting for a serious answer.

"Both, I guess. Still reeling over Chase?" House met her gaze, ready to catch any emotion would flash in her eyes – it was a just scientific experiment, of course. He didn't know what he was trying to prove or which of her delusions he was going to shutter this time.

"No, not entirely. Just… In general. I can't understand why it's so difficult to admit a mistake, why lying, plotting…."

"So we can talk about your work but mine is a no-no?" He feigned a tone of an offended child, as his mind promptly connected the dots. The actions of her fellow were still haunting her. "The fella wanted to save his ass, that's called self-preservation, Cameron. I doubt that you're familiar with the concept, but still."

"And how about hiding something because you're unwilling to worry and upset me? As if I'm still a child. There was no proper time, no chance… that's crap, right? It could have been too late..."

"This isn't about the guy you fired. Chase once again?" House knew that Chase was unlikely to be the one she was referring to, but considering how he didn't know anything about her life here, he had to make a guess, if only just to see her reaction.

Allison shook her head.

"No, with Chase… it's over and done with."

She looked at her watch and stood up, taking her purse and gesturing to a barman that she was ready to pay. House knew all too well what was going on: Cameron running once again. Strange, though, this time the thrill of guessing her behavior right brought none of the usual satisfaction, didn't eclipse a slight disappointment at her leaving either.

"Sorry, but I'm really tired and need to get up early tomorrow."

"Not that I buy it." And rubbing it in was a matter of principle. If only he could understand why.

"Please, take a taxi." At least one thing hadn't changed: she still cared, unintentionally and unconditionally.

Sure he was going to catch a cab, but there could be one more option, which would prolong this evening. For some reason he wanted to, must be his curiosity again:

"I don't trust strangers, mommy. These drivers are scary."

"They're a bit chatty here, but you'll piss them off anyway, so they won't talk to you. It's me who will have to listen to a retelling of the Red Sox's last game all the way."

His plan of manipulating her into driving him to the hotel seemed to be cracking.

"What, they don't pay you enough to buy a car? Or you spend everything on charity?" He would never admit that he failed to deliver a sufficiently sarcastic comeback because of a suddenly overpowering sense of déjà-vu. Cameron had always been good at walking away and never good at keeping the distance, at least until the Dibala case – after it she had mastered both. Or almost mastered, since their phone conversations still made her look back every once in a rare while.

"The engine conked-out, I had to get it to a repair shop for today." House inwardly smirked in satisfaction. She didn't even realize that she had just given him an opportunity he was going to use.

"You have to take a cab, I have to take a cab, we may as well do it together." Before she could protest, he rose from the stool, leaning on his cane, and threw a couple of bills on the bar counter.

She made sure to ask the driver to go to his hotel first, obviously unwilling to let him know her home address. The trip went by in silence. So much for his ingenious plan.

**

**A.N: "Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo" is a famous quote by H. G. Wells.**

**Thanks to ****everyone who keeps reading and reviewing the fic. I appreciate your opinion. **


	12. Chapter 12

**

Chapter 12

**

On Tuesday after spending the day at a meeting Cameron finally reentered her office. The previous day her encounters with House in her office and at the bar showed that any attempt to avoid him would be unsuccessful as long as they were in the same place. So it was her Plan C: She'd asked Dr. Tyler to organize a meeting with a couple of neurologists at Boston Medical Center. The plan seemed brilliant: she would avoid House who would be at the conference and she have a chance to find out more about ongoing drug trials for MS. She couldn't tell for sure what prompted her to keep following the topic: a scientific interest or a still lingering fear that one dreadful day the ADEM diagnosis – a shelter protecting her world from crushing - would be taken away by life. Since fate seemed to have a habit of taking away the things Cameron held dear, it was like… her fire insurance, only this time she wouldn't throw it away, wouldn't believe in some ridiculous analogy with "condo rules" and "going homeless".

She sat in her chair and started reading a report her team had prepared. After an hour and a half Cameron leaned back, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, trying to get out the thousand pieces of grit that seemed to have settled in them. Her cell started ringing, and she had a distinct feeling that she knew who the caller was even before checking the ID. No matter how brilliant a plan was, House was sure to find a way to upset it. She answered:

"Hello."

"A field trip, huh? Very inventive." He didn't seem surprised, just moderately amused with her attempt at scheming .

"It almost worked, didn't it?"

"You'll need something more elaborate to get rid of me." Cameron could swear that House was smirking smugly at the moment.

"I somehow thought that moving away from Princeton would suffice."

"Well, you can't always get what you want."

"Ain't that the truth." She meant it as a light-hearted retort, but her voice sounded too weary to serve the purpose.

"I owe you wine." He said with a hint of boredom, as if diagnosing an annoying patient with a flu.

"Sorry?"

"Your last evening, in the hotel. I promised to buy scotch, you said you prefer wine."

"Well, I still do."

"This is kinda my last evening, let's have a repeat performance."

"I'm not…" She found herself at a loss of words. Seeing him again would be a very bad idea, wrong for too many good reasons, she managed to tread on a thin line between present and past so far, but it was too easy to stumble.

"Afraid to succumb to my charms?"

"Very funny." She glanced at the papers on her desk, texts were blurring into incoherent black lines. Maybe a distraction wouldn't do any harm. "I'm not inviting you to my home."

"My room then. It's bigger than your last one."

"I'll think about it, still have some work to do."

She shut her phone, but a moment later the screen illuminated with a sign that she got a new text message. His hotel's address and the number of his suite.

**

It was half past eleven. Unless Cameron was trying to beat a world record of non-stop working, she decided not to come. House didn't know what on Earth possessed him to invite her in the first place. Sure, his curiosity had the better of him, but that would explain their encounter in the bar, not this one. He already had his answer: she was still damaged, even more so after leaving Princeton.

But she still cared, the ADEM case proved it - she had to find the least probable but one of the most optimistic diagnoses. Had she worked for him, he would have disregarded her theory, at least at first. But… turned out that she was right, and, regardless of what he had told her then, the reasoning she had used to persuade him was well-founded, especially her final ace with recent lesions on the brain. House was reluctant to admit it, but leaving Princeton had been good for her as a doctor, even her articles proved it.

Anyway, during the last day of the torture mistakenly called "conference" he had attended one more lecture, called a phony neurologist on his bluff, blowing his theory to smithereens, and finally left the hospital. Contrary to what he had expected, the trip wasn't a complete nightmare: the conference was wavering between boring and moderately amusing, and it would take Lisa off his back for a while. A win-win.

He could have left that very evening, and yet he had preferred to call Cameron. House inwardly smirked: he still could pull some of her strings. But he knew better than start pushing too much - she would run again, and he wouldn't be able to stop her. Once he had arrogantly believed he would always possess that sort of power over her, but she had proven him wrong.

Cameron was elusive: the moment he got her all figured out, she would do something and mix up the pieces of his puzzle all over again. Like a diagnosis which was right under his nose and yet slipped away from him, Cameron instigated an urge to pick her apart and scrutinize like a blood-sample to make sure that there was no… But here the logic usually failed him, for he couldn't say what exactly he wanted to prove. That there was no mystery? No higher motives? Or that the damn "_I loved you_" was yet another one of her self-delusions?

The knock pulled him out of his thoughts. He rose from a sofa, groaning when his leg protested at the exertion, and opened the door.

Judging by a look of confusion and hesitance on Cameron's face, she had no idea what she was doing here. Despite his previous splendid logical reasoning, neither did he, to be honest. But damn him if he would ever show it.

"Did you bring wine?"

"You said you owe me." However, she didn't seem shocked: the corners of her lips tilted upwards.

"I meant drinking with you, not bringing it. I offered to buy scotch, you refused." He looked at her as if she was missing the most obvious thing.

Cameron entered and, to his surprise, pulled out a bottle from her sizable handbag.

"I had a feeling." She shrugged her shoulders under his scrutinizing gaze. Was he getting so easy to predict or was it just her?

He pointed to the sofa and limped to a mini-bar to get them glasses. The cane wouldn't allow him to carry the bottle of wine he'd bought, but now it was unnecessary. Cameron's voice came from the sitting room:

"I don't think we'll need another bottle."

"When did you become a mind-reader?" Somehow he didn't even feel irritated that she knew all along.

"When it matters, I'm anything but." She said, rising from the sofa, and came to stand by his side near the mini-bar. "So, where are the glasses?"

"The bottom shelf. You so can bend down."

Cameron ignored the comment, which he delivered in his most inappropriate and innuendo-laden tone. She bent down, took two glasses and went back to the sofa, he followed suit.

"I've heard about your show at Dr. Gardner's lecture." Apparently, she had learned her lesson from the previous evening and tried small talk to keep his attention away from personal issues. He would allow it, for the time being.

"Don't tell me you took his ramblings seriously." In fact, this little distraction could turn out to be interesting. Yet another chance to gauge her reaction. House cringed as he recalled the events of the day: "He's got somewhat satisfactory results from the first and second phases and thinks that it's all done. That's arrogant, and stupid. I hate stupid, by the way."

"That I remember."

"So what's your bet? Still believe in miracles?"

"I believe in a chance, not a miracle. But here…" She trailed on, a look of concentration crossing her features. "I agree with you."

He couldn't conceal his surprise at her response. For all intents and purposes, Cameron had to believe in this little fairy-tale of a successful trial. She went on:

"A promising phase one or two means nothing," he caught some bitterness in her voice as she spoke further: "Interleukin-10, gusperimus, IVIg, T cell vaccination, lenercept, infliximab... All were good in animal models... and caused negative side-effects or increased the disease activity."

For a fraction of second House couldn't understand what bothered him in her reasoning. Then it downed on him: cytokine modulators, inducers of remyelination, T cell therapies – together they left no doubt about what "the disease" was.

"And here I thought you were certain about your ADEM diagnosis. Having second thoughts now?" Inwardly he once again wondered why she would be so fixated on this case.

"I was right, House."

"Then why do you know each and every failed drug trial for MS over the past years?"

"A scientific interest." Cameron didn't even try to make this lie sound convincing. She looked at him instead, and it was something in her eyes that made him stop prying. For now, at least.

To fill the uncomfortable silence with something, he started opening the bottle of wine that Cameron brought. Meanwhile Cameron said:

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. In Gardner's case it's about his methods rather than research."

"The guy doesn't hold patients' hands? What a bastard! Sue him right away." He said pouring himself a glass.

"Year ago, at another trial… Some patients in his test-group received a drug different from the one they agreed on. Later we treated them. I read their contracts: the formula couldn't have had these side-effects."

"But you can't prove it. And you don't even know for sure, otherwise you'd b be shouting about it at every corner. Righteous indignation and all…"

He didn't intend to be harsh with her, but her little tirade reminded him so much of a Cameron she used to be: always fighting for what was morally right, always looking for the truth. He used to push her then, he would do it now. Another little experiment: he wanted to see her response. Maybe that's why he was studying her face so intently, noticing tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose and shades of green in her blue eyes.

"As for your morals - a different drug, but still for the same illness. They would've agreed anyway."

"Right, because lab rats don't have a right to chose." Her cheeks were turning a light shade of pink, which, he could tell for sure, was a result of a rising anger rather than wine. Irritating her had always been a special kind of fun: flushed cheeks, hands on her hips, death stares and amusing frowns. He had frustrated a lot of people in his life, knew and could predict their reactions by heart. Still she had somehow managed to stay out of the crowd: a couple of emotions, which were sure-ins with the others, had never crossed her face. Hatred and utter disappointment. Though, disappointment had flashed in her eyes during their encounter in his office on her last day in Princeton.

"Not what I said. But if you insist…"

"House!"

"That's what everyone does. He wanted to come up with a drug, so he speeded-up the process."

"Life is more complicated than who gets to the finish line first." She smiled a bit, and House got a feeling that there was some inside joke that he missed.

"Yeah, your ethical dilemmas again. They would have agreed, Cameron."

"Are you defending him now?"

"I don't give a damn about his methods, what irritates me are his ridiculous ideas."

"They were a test-group, but they deserved to know what they agreed to."

"Desperate people, like them, agree to desperate measures."

Cameron put her glass on the table and fixed her eyes on his. He met her gaze, trying to understand why she needed this little eye-war. She was bound to lose, anyway.

"You were desperate, but not that desperate." Her expression was conflicting, like she was going to do something she didn't want to.

"I'm sure there's a big revelation coming." He went on holding her gaze. She would break first, maybe she'd hold up to eleven this time.

"You did the research on Ketamine, didn't you?"

He had barely counted to five when, taken aback by the question, he averted his eyes to look at the handle of his cane - the Ketamine time was a glimpse of the normal life he could have had. All the things, which used to be forbidden, had been possible during this short period. It was… liberating and intoxicating at the same time. This feeling was strangely addictive, later he craved for it as much as he craved for Vicodin.

"I'm not an idiot."

He remembered clearly the pit in his stomach and the anger that overwhelmed him when he had been deprived of this newly-found freedom. Then he almost wished the Ketamine hadn't worked at all, so that he would have never experienced this sensation of being back to his pre- infarction self. Desperate people agree to desperate measures – he also had, taking a risk with Methadone trying to chase the high of being whole once again.

"So, you had the right to know everything about the FDA-banned drug you were going to take, but the patients don't."

House inwardly applauded her - apparently, she had learned a thing or two about low blows. And still, unlike all other people he had driven mad, she wasn't looking for revenge, hell, from the look in her eyes he could tell that she, at least a little bit, regretted playing hard. That was very Cameron: to push a sore spot, yet not to pay him back for herself, but to prove a point for the others.

"I can imagine your righteous anger: he'll get off with this, you don't have a formula for a new drug, only side-effects. The guy is arrogant, not stupid, I'm sure he altered his reports."

"I know… I always lose, right?"

House didn't like her defeated tone. Damn Cameron for playing him like this, consciously or not. But the wheels already started turning in his head as he thought of possible ways to prove her accusations. He had always been up for cat and mouse games, and this one could be amusing. Surely, he had no noble motives or sudden desire to help her, just a purely scientific interest.

"Ok," House cringed, like he always had when she used to bring him cases of pathetic patients. "Send me copies of test results. Just mark them as 'hot girls' porn', then I might take a look."

"Thank you for this," her tiny smile was almost genuine. "And for showing Gardner his place. It was pretty humiliating, and for once, I'm glad you did it."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Cameron? Stop, I've already asked this."

"Seems like we're going round in circles."

"Too bad, I prefer to go rounds, if you know what I mean."

Cameron ignored his suggestive tone, leaned her head on the back of the sofa, tracing the upper edge of the glass with her finger.

"Are you happy?"

Her question took House off guard. He thought that Cameron had long passed this particular point of blatant naivety.

"Are you high?" Meeting her puzzled gaze, he shrugged. "Thought we were asking stupid questions."

"No, I mean… back to Jagger's wisdom. Seems like you've got it all: Cuddy, Wilson, your practice, your team. How does it feel to get what you want?"

He didn't correct her, though he was no longer sure where he stood with Lisa. But the question itself did hit the nail on the head. Hell, he'd been trying to figure it out for more than a year now, but she had to appear out of blue and just do it. Inviting Cameron was certainly a bad idea: she made him uneasy, always had. He should have guessed that, consciously or not, she would drag him into this state once again. Good thing that he was a master of deflecting.

"As if you don't know."

"My wishes tend to end up being screwed." She must have sensed he was going to deliver a good comeback, and she went on before he could: "And don't start about me wallowing in self-pity. I'm not, just stating a fact."

Apparently, she did want him to answer the question. It would be a hell of a lot easier if he could say something he could believe in.

"I'm content." That was what he kept repeating to himself. For most of the time he was, after all.

"That's all?" She seemed genuinely surprised. What was she expecting? An enthusiastic and clichéd crap like 'I've never been happier'?

"Yeah, because I also want a good leg, no pain, Rolling Stones as my best buddies and a private strip club. No sign of progress so far."

"You're content." Her voice trailed off, as she seemed to be tasting these words like wine, rolling over, looking for shades. Finally she uttered, and he got an impression that it was more for herself than for him:

"Then it's overrated."

"A few more steps, and you'll join the league of misanthropic fellas. Ok, I might even organize a welcome party for you."

"Just like you organized Robert's bachelor party?" She smirked. "I was reaching a… conclusion for myself, not everyone. I'm an idiot - still believe in people and…"

"Didn't you check security tapes and fire your fellow?" He needed to rub it in, maybe it was time to make her abandon the rest of the self-delusions she had left.

"Sometimes I have to be careful, for the sake of others. I have to, because… lives matter, not the process. If anything happens, and I miss it, then it's my fault."

"A Savior complex in all its glory."

"It's you who likes playing God here." The line lacked the bitterness of the last time she had said it, her voice sounded weary, though House wasn't sure how to interpret it. Anger, frustration – he could deal with, these were emotions he easily evoked in people, even in her. But these words sounded like acceptance, not a good and liberating, but a defeating and draining-out one.

"No follow-up lectures this time?" He tried taunting her on purpose, for he wanted her to fight him, start proving a point, advocating what was morally right. Otherwise it would mean that she saw a lost cause in him. He couldn't understand why and was unwilling to analyze it, but the thought was unsettling. Sure, she had cut the strings loose, no longer was the lobby art he could occasionally take a look at, but, no matter what he had repeatedly told her, he was used to her caring… about him and maybe missed it just a little bit.

"You never listen."

"Humor me."

She shook her head slightly, a tiny smile on her face, then said: "It's strange: now that I no longer work in Princeton, we talk more than we did during my last three years there."

"And your point is? There's a teary love-story we haven't yet realized? According to your beloved Freud, it's the opposite, since I don't treat you like complete garbage."

"Actually, my point is that maybe I'm a masochist after all, I should've kicked you out of my office and never come here."

"But you didn't." He kept himself from smiling smugly. Instead he decided to get straight to the point. It was time to start picking her apart. "Still can't hate me?"

"It's useless."

"Why?"

"Because it won't help. It's like… Well, sometimes I hate rain. So what? Eventually I get freaked out, and the rain doesn't give a damn."

"It was the crappiest metaphor I've ever heard. So what's the solution?"

"To wait it out." She looked away, adding quietly: "It'll finish, eventually."

"So you're waiting out… me?"

"Kinda."

"Couldn't have waited it out in Princeton? Your marriage might've lasted. Maybe you'd already have a bunch of mini-Chases."

Well, he had to have revenge for her mention of Ketamine, right? The minute he said it, her face went slack, and all the color drained right out of it. He almost regretted playing hard.

"That was very you, I guess." Cameron said, massaging her temple with two fingers, as if she had a headache. She closed her eyes and heaved a tired sigh. "Waiting would've worked if I knew there was a chance."

"For me realizing my undying love to you?"

"Just a chance. For you. You've changed. Even before Mayfield, step by step. I don't know whether the others saw. After you returned… You fooled them. I couldn't see it anymore."

"You were the one who wanted to change me, remember? Officially, I'm an adequate and sane fella now."

"Not to change, to hea…" she waved her hand in defeat. "Forget it, it doesn't matter."

"You know that I won't just drop it."

"You will." She sounded too confident for his liking, though not smugly confident – this type of behavior was more of his suit. But Cameron had just with no hesitation stated that he would quit solving a puzzle. He wondered what possessed her to make such a ridiculous guess. She seemed to read his thoughts as she continued:

"Know why?" She put her glass on the table and looked at it for a moment, then turned to face him again. "Because that's safe, fitting and…" She drew her face a bit closer to him, her eyes never leaving his as she whispered: "comforting, isn't it?"

The latter sounded painfully familiar. And not that ridiculous, after all. A sudden pause dragged on. They shouldn't be sitting in that kind of silence, because that could be bad: too tense, too exposing, too close to the truth.

Cameron shifted uncomfortably and rose from the sofa, breaking the tension. She smoothed her pants on her knees, then brushed away a strand of blond hair that fell from her perfectly, deadly constraining bun.

"Guess I should be going."

"Good, then I can finally order a hooker and start enjoying the visit."

He also rose, still in thought, leaning heavily on his cane. She took her bag and they made a couple of steps to the door.

For the second time in two days he felt none of the usual pleasure from being able to predict what was coming: she would hold out her hand that he wouldn't be able to shake. She would have this sad, yet understanding expression on her face and leave. Just like this. Before he would have a chance to do what he intended: he hadn't made her face her delusions yet, hadn't even taken her apart, because she was doing it herself: willingly, unconsciously. He expected her to run, but he had the hollow feeling that this evening most of the running was his, not so bad for a cripple, even if figuratively speaking.

Cameron didn't hold out her hand, but stepped closer to him and brushed her lips against his cheek. His left hand instantly flew to her back, holding her: not tight enough to prevent her from leaving, a light touch verging on a thin line, but never crossing it, otherwise it would be dangerous. Just close enough to feel her warmth and a slight shiver that went through her body at the contact. Cameron didn't raise her head to look up at him, as she quietly whispered, her breath caressing the point where his neck met his shoulder:

"It was nice to see you, House. Take care."

A moment later she stepped away, and he dropped his hand, trying to pretend that it never rested on her back.

He closed the door behind her and touched his cheek with his fingertips.


	13. Chapter 13

**

Chapter 13

**

The door of his old apartment closed with a familiar thump. House tossed his knapsack in the corner, deciding that at the moment such unpacking would suffice. He took off his jacket and limped to the ever-comfortable couch. This piece of furniture might as well be his most faithful companion, apart from Wilson, of course. But the former was a silent one - definitely a plus, in House's eyes. Although His sofa couldn't deliver a decent comeback, hence it would be no fun mocking it. But then again, no one was perfect.

House propped his back on one side of the couch, stretching his legs along the length of it. Normally he would also have a beer or whiskey in his hand, but he wasn't in the mood for drinking.

He rubbed his forehead with his palm. He was supposed to go to Lisa's from the airport, or maybe not, considering that she would be in the hospital all day long. Maybe he didn't really want to, for that matter. Not bothering to analyze his own motives, he preferred to return to his old apartment - hardly a rare occurrence these days. Hell, it should have been easier.

Two weeks ago he had been sitting on the same couch, resting his chin on the handle of his cane and feeling that things had again turned suffocating. There had been another fight. It had been his fault, well, mostly his fault. Lisa had told him almost the same thing as Stacy, she felt lonely. He should have been more attentive, more caring, and obviously, more understanding.

Ironically, about eight years ago, partly out of the fear to take chances, partly succumbing to the sudden pangs of his usually elastic conscience, he had driven Stacy away using painfully similar words as a weapon. He had predicted back then, how they would end up, should they give their relationship another try.

_We'll be happy for what? A few weeks, few months. And then I'll say something insensitive, or I'll start ignoring you. And at first it'll be okay. It's just House being House. And then at some point, you will need something more. You'll need someone who can give you something I can't._

He had never believed in writings on the walls or some other crap like that, but it seemed like he was living through the scenario he had drawn for Stacy, only with Lisa this time.

He hadn't wanted to hurt her, not intentionally, at least. Yet, her subtle and not so subtle attempts to change him... He had tried to meet her halfway, but apparently it would never be enough. The more so, he had no longer been sure he wanted to try anymore. The vigor with which he had convinced Lisa they could have the relationship she needed, had died away at some point, leaving weariness instead. Every now and then something would tip the balance, driving them into yet another power-play. These little games might have been amusing at times, but they were also tiring, though he would never admit it.

Here was the catch: admitting a self-delusion and facing a reality is like admitting a mistake - no one likes doing it. Lisa didn't and neither did he. Sometimes he got an unsettling feeling that it was the fear of being wrong that kept their relationship running.

He couldn't even remember the reason for their latest fight, thus it must have been something trivial. Like a tiny bacteria causing a hell of a disease. Preferring to cure a symptom instead of the illness, he had decided to take the easy way-out, albeit a temporary one: a conference or any other deadly boring gathering, which he would normally avoid like plague. He had been looking for a request with the soonest date possible. His plan had boiled down to one simple wish: to get away for a while.

Going to Boston and seeing Cameron hadn't figured anywhere near the top of his priorities. Until House had came across an invitation from Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center: their conference had been scheduled in a week – definitely not soon enough; it had been supposed to last only two days – definitely not long enough; and topping it all, it included a commitment to give a lecture – definitely a major turn-off.

Yet, against all logical reasoning, this very offer had seemed more tempting than other invitations, never mind that some of them had been more fitting for his initial plan. He had set things up in a way that it had been Lisa who had ordered him to go there, otherwise it would have looked suspicious. And that's how he had ended up in Boston.

House closed his eyes, his mind drifting to the events of the two previous evenings with Cameron. He had wanted to check whether he still had a place in her mind - that residual symptom, which for some reason he had never wanted to treat, even when shuttering her illusions. He got his answer, but he'd be damned if he knew what to do with it.

Out of her life as he was, he still held his special place: not in her bed not in her heart, but in her mind - the concept he had devised long ago seemed to be still working. That was familiar, even comforting in a way. But he had made a huge mistake believing that it would be safe.

He hadn't figured into the equation that on some subconscious, unexplainable level, she would still be able feel him, see though him. He inwardly cringed, the thought sounded too clichéd and snappy. In his book, however, it wasn't necessarily a good thing. Not good at all, especially when it came to Cameron. She had made him face things he didn't want to acknowledge, the more so, she had done it without fully realizing that every time she hit home.

He didn't know how the hell it happened, but he felt as if the tables had been suddenly turned, and it was Cameron who had a place in his mind all along.

**

House and Wilson were eating lunch in the hospital's cafeteria with House periodically snatching fries from his friend's plate. It was House's first day back at work after the conference, albeit technically he had arrived in Princeton the day before, but his bargaining with Lisa had bought him a day-off, thanks to his reasoning about the "excessive stress" and a "recuperating period".

Ten minutes into the familiar routine, Wilson voiced what kept bugging him since House's return:

"You seem contemplative."

"Sick patients don't cure themselves. Bastards, aren't they?" House knew that this little interrogation was imminent, but Wilson would have to try harder if he was going to get anything out of him. House started unwrapping his Reuben as he remarked: "And unlike you, I don't have one diagnosis that fits all."

"Really? I thought it was Lupus." Wilson took a bite of his girly salad.

"Fits _almost _ all, but it's never Lupus."

"So how was the conference?"

"Deadly boring." House demonstratively yawned to emphasize his point, a martyr expression on his face.

"Rumor has it you razed Dr. Gardner to the ground."

"Rumor has it your dominatrix tied you too tight this morning." House eyed Wilson's new tie with disgust. It looked decent enough, and that's exactly what kept bugging him.

His friend tried to seem unfazed, but the expression of a schoolboy keeping a secret from his parents was a dead give-away. Still, Wilson didn't let him change the subject:

"Did you?"

"Yeah, the guy is an idiot with an ego the size of Texas. Must be overcompensating for a certain something else."

"Not that you ever missed a chance to publicly humiliate someone," Wilson seemed amused and then there was that look which he always used to wear while trying to decipher his motives. After all, his friend knew him well enough not to take anything he did at its face value. "But usually you don't bother going to another city for that."

"Don't be jealous, Jimmy. We did it once, and it didn't mean anything, I promise." He said loud enough for people surrounding him to hear his perfect imitation of a cheating husband's speech. House took a big bite of his Reuben and proceeded more quietly, this time without attracting an audience: "He was touting a ridiculous theory with no proof. Are you a doctor, or what?"

"A source for free lunch, apparently." Wilson shrugged. A couple of minutes went by before he finally asked the question House knew all along was coming:

"How's it with Cuddy?"

Shamelessly predictable. His friend had assumed the role of peace-maker willingly right after he and Lisa had started a relationship. Maybe Wilson was fishing for a Nobel Prize for peace: good services and all.

"Testing the waters for a threesome?" Unfortunately, after years of tolerating his jokes, Wilson was almost immune to his stunts and didn't even flinch.

"Greg, I'm serious."

House knew that he would have to answer honestly, because in Wilson's language 'Greg' always meant 'cut the crap for a minute'. And he also knew that James used this trick only if absolutely necessary. So, though he inwardly cringed, still reluctant to start "a serious talk", he said:

"Soon I'll be out of the doghouse. Sort of."

"You don't seem happy about it."

"What? Make-up sex is the best. I'm delighted and jumping for joy inside. I'd do it right now, but the bum leg, you know…"

"It was your fault, after all."

"You're the master of stating the obvious, you know it?"

Wilson sighed and obviously decided to postpone the lecture for latter. House was surprised to feel a sudden relief at this point. He didn't want to talk with Wilson about it, not now at least: he still hadn't spoken to Lisa since his return. Sleep-lab was a quite comfortable hiding place, by the way.

"Did you see Cameron?" If Wilson was trying to find a safer subject, he was failing miserably.

"Why should I?"

"As far as I know she's working in that hospital. Don't tell me you weren't curious and didn't seek her out."

"Why would I?" He feigned innocence, but Wilson skeptically raised his eyebrows, showing that the trick didn't work. He reluctantly admitted: "So, I accidentally saw her in a hall."

"And?"

"What? You expect a dramatic story? She's still Cameron, for God's sake. She said hello, made small talk and then went to fire her fellow." He didn't want to tell Wilson more about his brief encounters with Cameron. His friend was bound to get the wrong idea and start talking about his suppressed feelings or some other crap like that.

"Cameron did what?"

"What can I say, power corrupts."

And then, for all his previous evasiveness, House suddenly realized that he didn't want to let the topic of Cameron go. Not that he planned to spill the beans, but he needed to talk about her, maybe it would help to understand what the hell had happened. The most ridiculous of this all was that nothing had actually happened. But his mind stubbornly came back to their conversations over and over again. How did she do it? Succeeded in making him question things, without even pushing properly. Lisa had tried to… House mentally slapped himself. No need to go down that slippery path. He caught Wilson's questioning stare and realized that he had been silent for a few minutes.

"Anyway," House said, twisting the cane in his hands. "I thought you'd know more about Cameron. You both are sickeningly caring and nice, well, apart from your philandering, of course."

"She didn't mention firing anybody the last time we talked."

Ding. That was obviously new.

House was just trying to avert Wilson's attention, but his friend's response actually puzzled him. He hadn't known that Cameron and Wilson had been in touch. House's curiosity flared up as his mind started working on theories and hypotheses. But the most important question of all was: how the hell he could have missed it. House decided to pry further:

"And that would be?"

"Two or three weeks ago, why?" Wilson was obviously feigning carelessness, but "cheater" was written all over his face once again. For God's sake, how did this man manage to lie to his three wives for so long?

Judging by what Wilson's excessively casual tone, these two had been chatting for some time now.

"How come I didn't know about it?"

"You're losing your touch." Wilson shrugged his shoulders.

"A great reunion of two over-caring souls." House said sarcastically as he was thinking back to everything he knew about relationship between Wilson and Cameron. These two were alike in many aspects, Cameron had helped Wilson after Amber's death, but soon afterwards they became more distant. Sickeningly polite and nice to each other, but still distant. "You used to be buddies once, but then… Some trouble in paradise, right? What was the catch?"

"I don't see how it is any of your business." Wilson shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Did it ever stop me before?"

"Cameron helped me after Amber," Wilson didn't finish the sentence. "She understood me. Too well."

"Thought you were a sucker for understanding. Three wives, a bunch of affairs and you're still looking for the one who'll understand you."

"Look. I've gotta go." Wilson attempted to stand up. "My patient is having surgery today."

House put his cane forward to prevent Wilson from retreating. But the fate interfered in a form of a familiar female voice, promising the torture of clinic duty to the next individual to cross her path:

"House!"

**

House managed to catch Wilson only late in the evening in his office.

"You didn't hope to get off so easily, did you?"

"What are you talking about?" Wilson looked up from a pile of charts he was filling in.

"So, what's the catch with you two? Fought over a prize for niceness?"

"Why are you interested?"

"Simple. You're avoiding, so there must've been something." House sat on the coach and stretched out his legs, getting comfortable. Five idiots in the clinic and a new patient in Diagnostics – the day was eventful as ever. He continued: "Don't tell me you both slept together and then decided it was a mistake like in a chick flick. Wait, on second thought, pray tell."

House gripped the handle of his cane tighter than usual as he said these words, but it must have been the exhaustion after clinic duty.

"Of course not!" Wilson's shock was genuine, which meant such a thought hadn't crossed his mind. Good. But still House had to check:

"'Not' meaning you didn't, or that you won't tell?"

"We didn't House."

"Then what?"

Wilson sighed in defeat, understanding that House wouldn't simply let the subject go.

"Remember how after the infarction you didn't go to any group, refused to talk to those who had gone through…"

"Because," House raised his voice, interrupting Wilson. "I could give a damn about the others, they're idiots. And that's the worst table-turner ever."

"No, because seeing other people with the same problem would actually mean that you aren't unique. That you don't suffer more than others. Your pain may be damn suffocating, but they've been through this too. At first it helps… a lot, but then…" Wilson rose from the chair and walked to the window, turning his back to House, placing his hands on his hips.

"I looked at Allison and, well, it's ridiculous, but for once, I was jealous that she knew how to live with it. And it meant that one day I'll also manage. I didn't want to, thought it would tarnish the memory of Amber." Wilson ran his hand through his hair. "I needed space… she understood it even earlier than I did."

House was silent for a while, trying to process Wilson's admission. They had not discussed Amber's death in a long time. Their friendship had survived the whole ordeal, but there was no need to test it further by bringing up the past. House knew all too well that at one point that each of them had been haunted by regrets, anger and endless 'what-ifs', and it had been easier to exonerate them on one's own.

To fill a sudden pause, he asked, trying to push the conversation in a bit different direction:

"So why are you suddenly buddies again?"

"House, are you jealous or something?"

"Sure I am, you're my bestest friend and I don't like sharing. Back to the point."

"We both needed a place to escape to at a wedding." Wilson smiled.

House couldn't get rid of the feeling that there was more to the story, but he knew that Wilson wouldn't crack today, so maybe he had to find a way to interrogate Cameron.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Things could go back to normal. House knew he simply needed to talk to Lisa, admitting that he had been wrong or just saying that he was sorry. That would be relatively easy, safe and predictable. In other words, relatively hypocritical, cowardly and masochistic - a mix he vehemently detested in all of the so-called healthy relationships.

"That's what all grown-up people do," – Wilson had said. His friend sure would know, hell, with his marital record he must have mastered these pathetic excuses to perfection, an acquired reflex and all. Maybe he had even devised a codename for it, just like with these disastrous dreams-hopes-and-aspirations. House contemplated borrowing some tricks from Wilson's apology-talk. The thought was quickly dismissed, though, since the last time he tried employing his friend's techniques hadn't ended up well.

On the other hand, nothing good could have come out of that blackmailed date in the first place. Wilson or no Wilson, Cameron's untimely persistence or not, he had been bound to sabotage it. At least that was what he had told himself years ago, looking at Cameron's fallen face as he had been methodically and intentionally hitting the sore spots. Out of mercy rather than cruelty – crushing her delusions was better than crushing her anyway.

House threw the oversized tennis ball into the wall of his office. Just as all his words on that evening, it hit home. He caught the ball and twirled it in his hands. A fleeting vision came and went away.

Still, maybe Wilson's advice would work this time. Then the ball hit the wall again, this time with much more force. The real question was whether he wanted it to work. He suddenly pictured too clearly what would happen, should he go round the same circle all over again.

Treating the symptoms instead of the disease was just plain stupid – he wondered for how long they would keep ignoring this simple fact.

A few days later, House was sitting in his office while his team was running extensive tests on their latest patient. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Spending hours in front of the computer screen reading and typing without occasionally watching General Hospital for a distraction could be tiring. He should find a way to make Cameron pay for this; after all, she had talked him into taking the case of Gardner's trial. At the moment he preferred to ignore the fact that actually it was he who offered to help.

At least he didn't have to deal with constant interruptions from Foreman, Taub or the sexy couple. Seeing his interest and frantic surfing of medical databases, yet misinterpreting its cause, his team decided that their current case was more difficult than it seemed. Out of the desire to reassert themselves or plain stubbornness, they were determined to crack this one on their own. Ironically House didn't even mean to mess with them this time, but apparently, they expected him to. Hence, they kept refusing a simple solution: long QT syndrome. He didn't mind, after all their current patient wasn't in critical condition. Yet.

Speaking of expectations and mindset - House smirked in triumph, took out his cell, scrolled down the contact list till he found the listing he needed. Yet another person with a twisted way of thinking. Trapped somewhere in the middle, Cameron still obstinately hoped for the best, but couldn't help expecting the worst. A perfect dichotomy of optimism and fear, one of which he was partly responsible for. Not entirely, for Chase, the dead husband and God knows who else did the bulk of the work.

He waited until she picked up and then said instead of greeting:

"Who's the fairest of them all?"

"What?"

She sounded confused, trying to guess what he was up to this time.

"Wrong, you must answer: 'Oh, great House, you're the fairest, the smartest and the most ingenious of them all'. I thought chicks dig teary fairytales."

"Haven't pictured you as the evil stepmother, that's all."

"Am I a frog in your book, with a prince somewhere underneath?"

She was silent for a moment, as if contemplating his words, and then blurted out:

"Lucy." She burst out into peals of giggles, apparently content with her conclusion.

Someone should tell her that metaphors which no one could understand were even worse than sports ones. Maybe even he would, but not today. Not now, because it sounded strange: careless and a tiny bit nostalgic - he hadn't heard Cameron laughing for a long time, not since… House frowned: he had forgotten the last time, and for the observant person he was, this simple fact was surprising. Maybe at some point in the past she had stopped laughing around him: since his return from Mayfield, or even before. True, she had been giggling at something he said during her last night in Princeton, but that one was too nervous and too broken to be an actual laugh. Not that he cared.

The moment was over all too soon, as Cameron continued, this time wearily, and he wasn't sure whether she was talking to him, or to herself:

"I'm no longer a Charlie Brown, though."

'Peanuts', damn it. He should have guessed.

He smiled at a ridiculous picture forming in his mind: Lucy taunting Charlie Brown by holding a football and promising to let him kick it. An ages-old prank, but Charlie would believe it every time, only to find Lucy snatching the ball out of his path at the last possible second, causing him to be flung up into the air and land hard on his ass.

Ridiculous, but oddly fitting. He shifted in his chair, suddenly feeling uneasy as his mind started racing. House sensed that his silence lasted longer than he wanted to. Stupid comics metaphors. He forced himself to concentrate on printed-out files in front of him. After all, that's why he called.

"So," He said, slowly dragging out the words: "Hot girls on Gravedigger porn?"

"It's you who asked for such a title."

"But you had to make it more personal, didn't you?"

Cameron seemed unfazed:

"Have you looked through the documents?"

He had been studying them for a few days now, but she didn't need to know it. She might think that he paid special attention to this puzzle because she asked him to, which, certainly wasn't the case.

"A 32-year-old woman, with a 5-year history of active…"

"What does it have to do with…"

Predictable.

"Just shut up for a moment." He said, irritation evident in his voice: he needed her to follow his lead here, otherwise she'd never come around his logic. Surprisingly, Cameron obliged. House went on:

"A 32-year-old woman, with a 5-year history of active Crohn's , unresponsive to mesalamine and budesonide. She was started on infliximab, after the third infusion abdominal pain resolved, bowel movements decreased."

"But?''

Good girl. He continued:

"After 12 months of therapy, she developed gait imbalance and numbness in the hands and feet. In over several weeks, walking became difficult."

"And her Crohn's?"

"Remained quiescent."

"A cranial nerve exam?"

"Normal. But she had mild spasticity and mild ataxia of the arms and legs."

"What about erythrocyte sedimentation rate, lupus anticoagulant, copper levels?"

"The rate of 55, and you missed with the two others."

Exactly what he needed: she was running out of options, just a few more steps and that would be it. But a game would be fun. As if echoing his thoughts, Cameron asked:

"MRI?"

"An ovoid lesion in the spinal cord with mild diffuse enhancement."

"A lumbar puncture?"

"No oligoclonal bands, c'mon, you could have asked right away."

"Actually, I thought about cell pleocytosis and IgG index, but you've just made it easier."

He should have simply answered the question she asked, instead of narrowing it down to what he wanted to say. So much for his complacency and having the upper hand. But he knew he would restore the balance pretty soon:

"So, any ideas?"

"CNS demyelinating syndrome," Cameron replied confidently. "In this case it's a rare complication of TNF inhibitors. I'd stop infliximab, put her on methylprednisolone. In 3 or 4 months the symptoms should resolve."

"Seems like you aren't an idiot." And now it was time for her to connect the dots. "Then why didn't you think about TNF inhibitors in Gardner's trial?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then Cameron answered, as if stating the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because everyone knows that TNF blockade shouldn't be instituted in patients with MS."

"You still expect everyone to play by the rules? Seriously? " He didn't give her time to answer, as he continued: "Logically you know that something is rotten there, just as you knew that one of your fellows screwed up."

"House," Her tone was all too familiar: the old Cameron, who believed in the best in people, who would stand up to him in every possible way. "Who in his right mind would take such a risk…"

"You've just easily guessed a complication from the TNF inhibitor in Crohn's, because the drug is often used for it, side-effects are rare, so you don't have to consider a doc prescribing it to be a bastard risking a patient's life."

He leaned back in his chair, content with himself. Cameron was oddly quiet. "Still can't come the whole way, can you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've learned to expect the worst from people, but that's not enough."

"You don't expect, you demand the worst from them," She didn't mirror his sarcasm, her voice filled with sadness instead. "And that's too much." Cameron finished, and he was transferred back to when she had been saying that there was no way back for him. It was absurd: he was right, but she somehow managed to turn the tables again.

"A TNF inhibitor could easily fit in the formula, he expected to balance it with the other components. You know I'm right."

"I…" Cameron trailed off for a moment, but then said with quiet resignation. «I know, I just wish you weren't."

"Don't pout."

He wanted to add that her mindset also worked, that only she could start thinking about the ADEM in that MS or not MS case. An ephemeral thought entered his mind that she, indeed, used to balance him, and the whole team, for that matter. He caught himself before any of these slipped off his tongue.

There was another pause, and he wondered whether she was thinking along the same lines.

When she spoke again her voice was all business: once again the tone of the all-too-professional, reserved Cameron he saw in the lobby of the hospital in Boston.

"Ok, I guess I'll need to check frozen samples, run complimentary in vitro and TNF bioassays..."

"Check levels of IFNγ and mRNA for placebo and the drug." He finished. "I'm sending you a couple of ideas."

"You actually typed?" She asked skeptically.

"Needed to hide from clinic duty, don't you dare to start the crap about me caring or helping, got it?"

"You aren't." She stated rather calmly, blowing his expectations of yet another lecture on ethics and his insensitive attitude toward patients. "I think you just want to humiliate Gardner, that's all. Luckily for me, it goes along with helping people."

"Fair enough."

Plus, he would always be able to get something out of this:

"And you owe me big."

"Again?"

"Well, you didn't expect me to be that unselfish while sharing my wisdom and brilliance, did you?"

"What do you need, House?"

"I'll think about it and then tell you."

He smirked smugly and ended the call. This time he got the upper hand, plus he would always have something to manipulate Cameron with. Though so far he had no idea how to use his new ace.

It took House and Cuddy one more month to come to the five stages of dying.

House opened the front door with his key and put it on the nearby table. Lisa was not in the sitting room, so he took a few steps toward her bedroom. She wasn't there either. He turned around and limped to Rachel's room, he expected Lisa to be there – sitting with her daughter always helped her to calm down when she needed it. He carefully opened the door, so as not to wake up Rachel. He was right, Lisa drifted off in the chair near Rachel's bed with a book on her lap and a bedside lamp still on. But she stirred the moment he opened the door wider.

"Hi." She whispered. She stood and left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

She didn't say anything further and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The tension settled in, with no one willing to break the silence first. It had been easier during the day, when each of them had a handy arsenal of distractions: Cuddy had an entire hospital to run, and he had annoying patients and a team to mess up with. Whereas now they had no escape route from their personal life.

He felt sorry, only not in a way Lisa wanted him to. It had nothing to do with their latest argument, or him not being attentive enough, or whatever. He was sorry for driving them both into this deadlock of a relationship in the first place.

When he returned to the sitting room, she was on the sofa, leafing through a magazine without actually reading it. She didn't look up at him, but he could see the muscles in her back and shoulders tense up.

"People say it helps when you don't turn it upside-down, though this way you…"

"What?" Lisa absent-mindedly looked at the magazine, which, indeed was turned upside down. She frowned and threw it at the nearby table.

He cleared his throat: time to clean up the mess.

"How about a break?"

"Don't you take one whenever you want instead of working?" She tiredly massaged her temples.

_Denial_

"Do you think you need a break?" House gripped the handle of his cane tighter, frustrated at himself. He was acting like a coward, even unable to pronounce these words aloud. He hoped that Lisa would understand, once they used to be able to listen and hear each other.

"I can't leave the hospital and…"

"Lisa, that's not what I mean."

And she did understand, maybe even had the first time he mentioned it.

"What on the Earth… You can run away every time things turn difficult!"

_Anger_

"I can't even if I wanted to, cripple here." He cursed inwardly after saying it. He didn't want this conversation to turn into yet another deflecting-game. "I hate to sound cheesy, but it's more like giving some space."

"To yourself, apparently."

"To us both, to think it over."

_Bargaining  
_

She didn't answer, just rose from the sofa and marched past him to her bedroom. A few more seconds and door-banging would ensue. Before Lisa reached hr destination, he gently but firmly caught her hand, making her stay still.

"Is this how you pictured us?"

She didn't meet his gaze, looking at the floor instead. Her answer, when it came, was quiet.

"No."

_Depression_

"It used to be easier, didn't it?"

"It did."

He let go of her hand, wondering what would happen next.

She finally looked him in the eye:

"Let's do it."

_Acceptance_

At this very moment it seemed like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. The funny thing was that Lisa also seemed to feel a sudden relief. She relaxed, previous strain and tension vanishing. House nodded, and limped to the front door. Turning around for one last time, he added:

"Does it mean that I get a week off the clinic duty to recuperate from emotional damage?"

"In your dreams."

They both smirked.

He never took his key from the table.

_**Author's note: **__**Greetings to those who used to read Peanuts, and those who (like me) couldn't help laughing at the use of the Charlie Brown metaphor on the West Wing. **_

_**BARTLET: You know what you are? You are the Charlie Brown of missile defense. The Pentagon is Lucy. **_

…

_**LEO : There're a couple of three star generals in there. Call any of 'em Lucy and you're on your own. **_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

That evening House was absent-mindedly playing the piano in his old condo: he took care to move it out of Lisa's apartment as soon as possible. So far only Wilson knew about his break-up with Cuddy, but in a week or two that was bound to change. Better if it would happen in two weeks - he needed time to place a bet on the looming break-up and since using Wilson would be just too suspicious, he would have to spend some time looking for an appropriate shill. Luckily, Cuddy agreed to keep things under wraps, even grateful for an opportunity to compose herself before a hoop-la would ensue.

All in all, being in his old place was strangely comforting.

He had to face one problem, though: there were few things to distract him from the pain and cravings. He should have gotten used to it a long time ago, truth was, he still hadn't. He had learned to live in pain, true, learned to adjust, but he had never gotten used to it. Once he had an escape, blissful, calming, soothing heaven. But the shit mistakenly called life deprived him of this sanctuary, hitting his true sore spot – control. Unwillingness to lose it to pain had been one of the reasons he turned to Vicodin in the first place, but when the drug had trapped him, he had no choice but leave it.

Yet the absence of Vicodin didn't put an end to cravings, far from it. They remained: sometimes subsiding, sometimes overwhelming and unexpected. Just like this evening.

House rose, limped to the sofa, and sat down trying to get comfortable. To distract himself, he started leafing through magazines on the journal table, most of them were old: his subscriptions still were forwarded to Lisa's, and he made a mental note to change them. The celebrity gossip and TV Guide spoilers that he found were way too out-dated, so House threw them all in the far corner of the room. His gaze caught an old issue of Neurology Today. For a moment even that would suffice.

It was on page ten: "MRI criteria for differentiating MS from ADEM", co-authored by Dr. Steven Tyler, head of Neurology Department, and Dr. Allison Cameron, head of Immunology Research group – both from Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center.

That was how he got an ingenious idea. Cameron could prove to be a fitting distraction, at least for a while. He pulled out his cell and found the familiar contact. "Charlie Brown" was definitely an appropriate substitute for "Renegade". He had to wait for five minutes before Cameron answered groggily.

"You know it's two in the morning, right?"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." He victoriously smirked, anticipating at least some diversity in his day. "I'm bored. And you owe me."

"So?" She didn't seem to be getting the point.

"So," he made a dramatic pause to get Cameron's attention and then continued: "try entertaining me, like… what are you wearing right now…."

"Screw you, House."

She slammed her phone shut. He smirked once again, amused by her hash tone, Cameron didn't like to be woken up. "Moody, feisty, willing to kill the first individual in eyesight" - he stored this piece of information for future reference, though he had no idea for which one. Yes, a call to her certainly was more entertaining than TV Guide articles, at least the old ones.

He dialed her again:

"Was that your idea of phone sex?"

"What do you really need, House?"

Apparently, she was now fully woken up, if she started trying to analyze him.

"As I said, you owe me, and I'm bored."

"Can't you wake up Cuddy instead?"

And that's how this evening stopped being amusing. He could have deflected, cracked an inappropriate joke and moved on, but before he knew it, words were out of his mouth:

"We broke up."

There was a pause on the other end on the line. House rolled his eyes, thinking that Cameron was preparing a speech on relationships, with meant-to-be's and other cheesy clichés, just like the others definitely would. The Cameron he once knew would certainly add something foolishly hopeful, like "it'll get better".

But instead a tired, reserved voice asked:

"You broke up with Cuddy. And it concerns me… how?"

With that, she mixed up the pieces of a puzzle he created in his mind. Once again.

"Thought you'd be eager to say something."

He knew for sure his team would, and the mere thought of this made him cringe. But somehow here he was, pushing Cameron to voice an opinion. Cameron, who obviously didn't want to. Reverse psychology be damned.

"Should I?"

"That's what you do."

She used to. She didn't even need to say things aloud, once he could see them in her eyes. When Stacey had come back, for instance. He could feel that Cameron had been worried. He had taken it for jealousy at first, and sure, it had been there, but not entirely. _"I thought… you were too screwed up to love anyone. I was wrong. You just couldn't love me. It's okay. I'm happy for you." _At all those moments when she had seen him interact with Stacey afterwards, there had been genuine concern in her eyes, and hopelessness, as if he would inevitably step into a fire and she could do nothing to stop him. That selfless, ridiculous concern of hers had thrown him off balance. Just a little. Thankfully, he didn't have time to dwell on that memory, as Cameron answered:

"I used to, just... you didn't need it. I was an idiot."

"That you were," he traced the handle of his cane with his thumb, wondering whether or not to say the words that were lingering on his mind. Better late than never, he reluctantly added: "But not a coward, though. Not that it was a good thing."

"Right. Seems like I learned some self-preservation after all. " Cameron cleared her throat and said, trying to sound casually: "So, where are you staying now?"

"Since I didn't want to be tied Wilson's secret dominatrix, I'm at my place, where else?"

"It was still available?" But before he could retort, Cameron discerned the real meaning of his answer: "You… had it rented all this time."

"Well," he was taken aback by her suddenly tense tone, mainly because he couldn't find a reason for it. It couldn't be because she thought that it was unfair to Cuddy or something, even Cameron wasn't that caring. "I needed a place to bring hookers, you know, my bench-warmers, no, scratch that, bed-warmers."

"You had doubts." There was a nervous edge to her voice, the one that appeared when Cameron was pissed off by something. He wondered why the hell this simple mention of the apartment ticked her off that much. Cameron went on: "You had doubts, and you kept your apartment as… a fire insurance."

A dry, throaty laugh was all he heard next, and then she said, her voice slightly trembling, but challenging all the same:

"It is easier to give advice when you don't have to follow it, right? All this crap about the condo rules and rather going homeless… you're so good at pushing others to take risks. You do crazy things to yourself, to your patients, your team, all the others. But when it comes to something that really matters to you, you stop." She paused to take a shaky breath. "You're a hypocrite."

The pieces that he was missing finally fit into place, making perfect sense. Cameron's doubts before marrying Chase, that absolutely masochistic, irrational decision to keep her dead husband's sperm, how she had come for advice to him of all people. He had long forgotten that particular conversation, but now it all came back too clearly for his liking:

"_I have doubts, normal doubts… It's not wrong to prepare for things to happen even if you don't expect them to. I don't expect my condo to burn out buying a fire insurance."  
_

"_Your condo rules don't let you buy insurance, would you go homeless?"_

The phrase started pulsating in his temples, as an annoying headache. He snapped back to reality:

"And you aren't? Blaming me for your failures is so much easier, right? You don't have to feel guilty afterwards, just like you did when you ran away from Chase." One thing he couldn't understand was why the hell he suddenly felt the urge to justify himself, and why he started sounding defiant, punishing her, as if she had just hit paydirt. "For the record, a dead husband's baby is a far cry from still renting an apartment. And a little birdie told me that you didn't follow my advice then, so…"

"Not then." She paused, as if she was going to say something but then changed her mind. "Forget it... I'm sorry, House, that was uncalled for."

"You're pissy when your beauty sleep is interrupted, I get it." He leaned back into his couch. "But it's surely not what I had in mind when I asked you to entertain me."

"Yeah, well… " Cameron paused and then suddenly, with an exaggerated lightness in her voice, added: "Oh, a patient proposed me the other day."

Good thing he still could tell when she was up to something, otherwise he would have taken the sentence at the face value and the prospect of her jumping into a new marriage was disturbing. But by the way Cameron said it, he could easily tell that there was some catch and she was willing to distract them both by it. Now he would just need to guess.

"Did you jump him right on a hospital bad?"

"Actually, he's not exactly my type."

"Isn't dying soon enough?"

"Well, that… and the fact that he's only four years old." She giggled and he couldn't help breaking into a smile, one she wouldn't be able to catch him doing, so there was no harm done."Anyway, I promised to think about his proposal in fifteen years or so."

"Never pegged you as a Cougar, but that's what I call a good retirement plan."

"He even gave me his toy-car."

"With a radio control?"

"Yes."

"The guy is dead serious about marrying you, then."

A short silence stretched between them, but it was oddly comfortable.

"You know," there was a hint of regret in Cameron's voice. "I have to wake up in three hours."

"You wake up at five thirty, but somehow people put me in an asylum. That's outrageous." He heard her laugh, and wondered how they managed to get to this point from challenging each other and getting dangerously close to truth just a few minutes ago. But then again, maybe that's what they always did.

"Right. And House?"

"Yeah?"

He expected a muttered "good night", when she said softly, as if hesitating whether or not she should do it:

"Intentions do matter. You wanted to reach out to someone, and for once you did. Cuddy… I'm… glad you tried, even if it didn't end up well. Proves that you can be human sometimes." She took a breath and then whispered: "But that's none of my business, really."

"Actually it means no threesomes for you when you call me in the middle of the night for a diagnosis. But if you ask nicely, I know a couple of girls who…"

"That was only twice!" She sounded defiant and somewhat embarrassed. He wondered whether she was clenching at the moment - that wouldn't be too comfortable with a phone in her hand. He even a tiny bit regretted that he couldn't see it.

Cameron went on:

"So, I'm off the hook now?"

"Nope. I never said that talking will be your repayment, you just believed it would."

In two days, he called again.

And then, the next day, she did. That's how they both fell into an old-new habit.

When Cameron realized that she had just read the same sentence for the sixth time in a row, she put her hands on the desk and rested her head on them. Theoretically, the work day was long since over, but she still had to answer some e-mails and to finish charting. She could as well do it tomorrow, not that anyone would bother to read work-related letters at 9 p.m. Even the Dean had told her to go home: something about putting too much strain on herself.

Yet working hard had never been about getting into the good graces of a boss or improving her chances for promotion. Rather it was about proving something to herself, overcompensating for her looks, raising the bar and growing up. Though maybe the answer was not that simple, or that complicated, depending on how one would look at this. At least partly, another plausible explanation boiled down to a fairly simple fact: it wasn't like her job interfered with her personal life, on the contrary, it helped to fill the void.

The phone call shattered the silence of her office with melodic sounds, disturbingly cheerful for this hour of the evening. Cameron raised her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand, and reached for the phone.

House.

She turned away from the cell, and her gaze fell on a double photo-frame that had appeared on her desk just a month ago. Her mom, brother and her on one side, her dad and her on the other side. For a long time she couldn't bring herself to make this office "hers". Cameron still remembered all too clearly how, when things fell apart, she had to pack everything, erasing the slightest traces of herself, so that her old office in ER would become impersonal again. It had taken her a year and a half in her new position to take a seemingly simple step – to bring in a photo.

The phone kept ringing, and Cameron had to look back at it. New life and old life. Why couldn't they take separate roads without crossing every once in a while? And, more importantly, why did she no longer mind finding herself at these intersections.

In the last two months his calls, okay, their calls, had become more frequent, intertwining with the fabric of her new life. They both preferred to discuss something safe: mostly trifles, cases or amusing occurrences - but somehow along the way, she found herself looking forward to their chats. And that scared her, because it was too easy to fall back into old habits, she had fought hard to forget.

Eventually she answered.

"Hi."

Since it took her too long to answer, she expected a sarcastic remark about her late-night "festivities" in the office, but all she got was:

"You're still his medical proxy."

It took Cameron a moment to realize who House was talking about. Still, her mind refused to process this information. Everything could be easier: in a last-ditch attempt to play dumb, she carefully asked:

"Foreman's?"

"Oh, please, even you can't be that…" Then House stopped, apparently feeling that she was just pretending. "Nice try, I almost bought it." He paused before saying seriously, something strange in his tone that she couldn't identify. "Chase's."

Cameron felt her throat tighten:

"What happened?"

Possibilities started clouding her mind. Suddenly she was transferred back to Princeton, back to the nights she had been waiting for Chase, not knowing what to expect, worrying herself mad over what could have happened. Then in a fraction of second she was back to his hospital room in the wake of the Dibala's case or after his bachelor's party. She felt the anxiety growing.

And then, suddenly, as soon as this nightmare of the past began, it was over, as House's next words started sinking in:

"Hey, hey, no dying man on the horizon, chill out."

Cameron let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and felt frustration boiling somewhere inside. How could she have been so reckless to let herself forget? She wasn't a lab rat to experiment on, he had no right to bring her into his games again. No damn right.

"You can be a real bastard, you know it?"

"Well, that's part of my charm."

"Why did you…"

House must have sensed that he had just come too close to crossing a line which, by some unspoken agreement, they both had vigorously avoided.

"I didn't want to meddle with your Savior tendencies, if that's what you're thinking about. Just needed some new dirt on the ducklings, tried looking through their files once again." His tone was nonchalant, but she felt that it was his way of saying that he was sorry, well, kind of. "And that's what I've got. Why?"

"Try asking him. I don't know, don't want to know why he did it."

Courtesy of House, she had learned one thing for sure: never ask a question if you can be hurt by the answer. She didn't need this now, didn't want to let herself be dragged into this labyrinth of motives and meanings again. One might never get out of there alive.

"Bet you were ready to jump on the first plane to Princeton right now." There was some bitterness in his voice, something more than his usual sarcasm, but Cameron couldn't quite put her finger on it. "If something happens, there'll be a happy little family reunion."

The first part of House's observation wasn't too far off the mark, she would definitely come, should something happen, but the second couldn't be more wrong. The anxiety that she had felt a few minutes ago wasn't the same dread that had gripped her when she had found the letter with the Betaseron logo in her dad's mail, it wasn't the same hopelessness that had washed over her every time she saw her first husband suffer. And that's what blew to pieces House's theory about "a happy reunion".

"You aren't even surprised. Am I right?"

In fact, she was, immensely, but when it came to her failed marriage, she could no longer master the strength for emotions. It had all burned out, drained her in the wake of DIbala's case, before and after the divorce.

House was still waiting for an answer, the only problem was – Cameron didn't know which one he would accept. Might as well try some honesty.

"My parents," maybe she was making a mistake, opening up to him, especially after he had just played her like this. What she was going to say was personal, and House could easily use it against her later. She sighed and went on nonetheless: "they're great… apart."

"Oh, here we go. Do I look like your shrink?" Apparently, he wasn't comfortable either, though she could detect the curiosity in his voice.

"It isn't like they're still at loggerheads or something, just can't stay together for too long…It's still difficult, to be civil."

The last time they tried a family reunion was the case in point: back when she had been dating Chase, she had proposed to spend a few days of Christmas together, so that both of her parents would get a chance to know him. It had seemed easier than flying first to Chicago and then to Boston. Then, caught in the middle of yet another face-off, Cameron had wished she and Robert had taken those damn two flights.

"But... Mom was the first one Dad turned to, when," Cameron didn't want to mention the suspected MS now, for House was bound to come with even more questions, so she simply added: "he had a problem."

Funny how an impending disaster can bring people closer and how a quiet sailing can make them drift further apart. She glanced at the photo-frame on her desk once again: it was divided into two separate parts for a reason. She continued, wishing to end this bizarre conversation: "He trusts her, I don't know, maybe Chase still trusts me. It's that simple."

"It's never that simple."

"Right," Cameron bit her lip, for a moment. She didn't want to turn the tables, not since it could shatter the fragile balance both of them had reached. But maybe it was the only way to make House understand. "So, once again, who's your physician of choice?"

She knew the answer, it had just come up in her talk with Wilson when they had been discussing a patient. She hadn't been surprised when Wilson had let it slip about him being House's medical proxy and Cuddy being physician of choice.

"You're good. If his motives are half as twisted as mine, then you're in trouble." He made it sound as a joke, but she could detect a slightest hint of concern behind his usual sarcasm.

"No one's motives are as twisted as yours. What's your motive, by the way?"

She instantly regretted asking that. She didn't need to be dragged into House's mind games anymore, she shouldn't do it to herself. Somehow in the last few months she had let herself forget that it was dangerous. For her own sanity, for keeping her new life separate from the old one.

"Guilt mainly." To her surprise, House was answering, even honestly, as she could tell. "It's a powerful motivator. And with Cuddy I know where to push."

"That's… cruel."

"That's rational. But…" He paused and she heard a faint sound of a ball hitting the wall. "You don't need this crap."

"Are you still in your office?"

"Got a case."

"Is it interesting?"

"Would suffice." He paused and then added strangely serious. "Cameron?"

"What?"

"You really don't need this. I can fix it."

House didn't' specify, but she instantly knew what he was talking about: Chase's choice to keep her as his medical proxy. She was surprised, because for a second it seemed that House cared. She hadn't seen this side of House in a long time. As if he wanted to protect her.

It would be so tempting to believe, but she couldn't let herself do it. Not after everything that had happened, not after everything she had been through, partly thanks to him. He might be looking for new ways of meddling with the lives of others, might be bored, might want to prove a point or to make an experiment.

"You've already messed with Robert enough. Just let it be."

As she said these words she already suspected that House wouldn't. There was a faint sound of a page going off on the other end of the line.

"My patient is crushing, gotta go."

"House…"

"Dying people suck at timing even more than you at changing topics."

"I…"

"Talk later."

They never promised to call each other again, they just did. It was the first time he openly admitted he would. The more so, she didn't mind it, and that's what bothered her.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Realization had the same sense of timing as House, when it came to clinic duty: it was always way too late. True, several months after Cameron's departure, he had complained to Nolan about the lack of a doctor on his team, who'd play an understanding friend card, but then he had let it go.

Up until the abovementioned realization unceremoniously dawned on him during one of their cases: his team, maybe the whole hospital lacked Cameron. Not in a melodramatic, clichéd sense of the word. But in a far more subtle way. He could easily function without her, just as the department, ER and even Chase could. Yet… he and his team in its latest, and seemingly final, version were too alike, however reluctant all of them were to admit it.

Moral dilemmas, crying over patients, getting over-emotional and everything in between – he hadn't even noticed that Cameron and every little irritating thing that went with her used to balance the team, and him, for that matter. Even at the time when she had been wasting herself in ER, that hopeful, selfless and thereby incredibly stupid attitude of hers used to remind him not to push it too far. Ironically, even when she conceded, she still managed to make him check his reasoning once again. Her administrator-playing time was the case in point.

She had never tried to control him, but somehow she had made him see a thin line, and he would think twice before crossing it. Such were the facts, though most of the time House preferred to ignore them. There was no use in mulling over a done deed: she had left, and so be it.

Over the past few years, life had thrown his way more than enough things to deal with: Lisa, cases, relationship dramas on his team... There had been no time to dwell on the past. Cameron wasn't completely out of the picture, though. A tiny string of occasional phone calls still connected them, though he could no longer use this string to pull her back whenever he pleased.

Over the past months he had come to view their new balance as a part of his routine, which was saying a lot. A more sensitive person would even suggest that he was enjoying it.

Until Chase happened.

House didn't believe that Chase still had any feelings for Cameron. Otherwise he would have left with her all those years ago. But one thing was still bothering him: Chase, albeit not intentionally, was intruding upon something that House considered … well, his 'something'. There was no pinning labels when it came to Cameron – with infuriating persistency she had proved each of them wrong. So he stopped trying to find a definition for their mutual inability to let go. However twisted and irrational his thing with Cameron was, even more after she had left Princeton, House didn't want to share it with anyone else.

Yet Chase's choice of his medical proxy could mix up his cards - a prospect that House didn't like at all.

The secret of a successful manipulation lay in finding an appropriate source for it. Knowing where to push was good, but knowing through whom to push was even better. Once a channel for providing leverage had been found, it was a matter of time and precision. In this very case, it took House two weeks.

First Thirteen merely rolled her eyes at his comments about her on-again-off-again boyfriend hedging bets, since she'd be on a deathbed anyway. Mild annoyance was all he got from her, but frankly he didn't expect anything less, she knew better than to be shocked by his sarcasm. On the other hand, maybe she didn't discern the real meaning of his words, he had been fairly subtle, after all. So House had to make sure his next strike would hit home. When the time came, he asked whether Thirteen ever got tired of looking over her shoulder to see Cameron there. Then there were threesome jokes and finally Chase's medical record that she saw accidentally amidst the files of their latest patient.

He knew that after a while, even Thirteen would crack, and crack she did.

House didn't even intend to eavesdrop. Just carefully staged the events so that he would. It so happened that the blinds in his office were down, so his team thought that he had gone home. A pure coincidence, of course. As was the fact that the only members of his team who stayed were Chase and Thirteen.

With the sound off, so as not to blow his cover, he had successfully nailed four levels of a new race on his Game-boy, when things in the other room finally started heating up. Unfortunately, Chase and Thirteen were in a far corner of the conference room, and he could hear only bits and pieces of their conversation. He should have thought about putting microphones there, for the sake of hospital's security of course. Though even the phrases that he caught provided a fairly vivid picture of what was going on.

House mentally congratulated himself on the success of his "Thirteen strikes" plan: for all her self-control, she was on the edge, that's for sure:

"Did you like it: House and her dead husband hanging over you in that relationship? Like hell you did, but you put up with it, because you… loved her. Maybe she didn't return it, maybe she did, frankly, I don't care which. But that's what still tortures you. Don't you start again about misgivings and illusions, for crying out loud, it's been four years and the reasoning hasn't done the trick."

"I don't see how it's…"

"Try saying 'any of my business'."

Now there was a warning, a threat even, and House regretted shutting the blinds: should a catfight happen, he wanted to see it.

"Whatever there was, or wasn't, it has nothing to do with you," Oh, Chase seemed edgy too, almost like in the first weeks following Cameron's departure. "Remy, it has nothing to do with what's between us…"

A suck-up. House cringed.

"Then why the hell should I pay for it? Why should I pretend that I don't know about her photos hidden in the back of the closet, her articles…"

House frowned, he didn't like this, couldn't rationally explain why, but he didn't. There was a silence, apparently Thirteen needed to take a breath to calm down, it wasn't like her to show vulnerability by making a scene. Then she continued: "And to top it all, she's still your medical proxy."

House leaned forward in his recliner, unwilling to miss Chase's answer, but at this very moment his phone started ringing. He promptly cancelled the call, not bothering to check who was trying to distract him from a General Hospital drama, but swearing under his breath nonetheless. Whomever it was, the person had just alerted the not-so-happy couple to his presence and ruined his chances of enjoying the show. Damn it.

A moment later the sound of a door slamming shut confirmed his suspicions: one or both of them left.

He winced in pain, as he lowered his right leg down to the floor from his recliner, intending to go home.

Just for the hell of it, he checked the person who deprived him of an Emmy-worthy face-off. Cameron of all people. Now that was ironic. He called her and leaned back in his recliner.

"Learn some manners, Cameron. I was in the middle of something here."

Her tone was teasing as she skeptically answered:

"Only if by something you mean playing your Game-boy."

"Just so you know, there is other… equipment to play with," he said suggestively. "So did you follow my advice?"

"No, House, I didn't strip at the lecture."

"Shame, you would've caught their attention that way."

"You could've simply asked, you know."

He could, but that would mean showing that he was too interested, which he didn't want to. Even if he was indeed curious. Cameron had been worrying herself mad over a stupid lecture her Dean had sent her to deliver to HMS students. She had been so freaked out that she had asked him, of all people for advice.

"And what fun would that be?"

"I did follow the second one though, that medicine is learned at the bedside, not in the classroom."

"Well, that might also do."

"I was kind of scared. You'd say it's stupid, I know."

To any other person, he most certainly would. But when it came to Cameron he suddenly found himself unable to. The fact was making him feel uncomfortable.

"Natural, not stupid. Still you didn't need to worry that much, usually they aren't worth wasting brain power on."

He wouldn't let other things slip, though. Like the fact that he was damn sure that she did well, since he knew what kind of a doctor she had become: self-confident, assertive when necessary and yet still caring, maybe still too much for her own good. He just wasn't used to voicing things like these, at least not in a straightforward way.

Cameron's next question interrupted his thoughts:

"When we were your fellows, were we worth it?"

"No plural and no past tense. Chase and Foreman are still play my underlings, regardless of what fancy titles Cuddy bribed them with. So there's still useless wisdom-wasting involved."

Although he didn't like change, he hadn't expected Foreman to settle for being Cuddy's whistleblower, neither had he thought that Chase would still be working for him. "So, to answer your question, you might have been slightly more bearable than the others."

At this moment instead of their differentials and cases, a memory of a different kind flashed through his mind. The day when his parents, well, his mother and John had come for a visit and Cameron had been perceptive enough to feel his silent plea not to join them for dinner. The evening when he had been sitting in this very recliner, telling her things about his childhood that only few people knew.

He hurried to change the topic to his latest case, and luckily Cameron followed his lead.

Late-night calls were a casual occurrence between them, since both frequently worked late: House only when faced with a particularly difficult cases, Cameron - most of the time just because it was her.

He could tell she was responsible for the ringing of his phone without even glancing at the screen.

"If you keep calling me for phone sex in the middle of the night, I'll start billing you soon."

He knew what would happen next: she would laugh a bit at his new opening joke, they'd talk about some trivial things or cases, pretending that there was nothing weird about them interacting almost like friends, almost like there had been no broken illusions, no blaming him for screwing the minds of the others, no running away on her part. Rationally he knew that this thing between them was weird, but weird worked for him.

Yet there was no chuckle on the other end, no feigned irritation in her voice telling him to grow up. Instead Cameron was uncharacteristically silent for a few more moments, until he heard the long forgotten notes in her voice: barely contained disappointment, frustration and hopelessness at the same time:

"You did it again."

He hated these flashbacks to her last visit to his office, with her telling him that he "did kill Dibala", and "nearly killed the patient" just because of a stupid game. They made him feel as if he had indeed been playing the ruiner, and far too successfully for his liking.

She spoke again, leaving no doubt what she referred to this time.

"You did it just because you could." It unnerved him that he knew exactly what look she had in her eyes, while whispering these words, voice thick with emotions. "It's his life, it's her life... Why do you keep doing this?"

All meticulously staged schemes could easily take some unexpected turns. Chase and Thirteen had called it quits a few days ago, and this time for good. The fact in itself hadn't been a surprise, House had considered such a possibility while setting things up, but frankly didn't care.

What he hadn't counted on, however, was that someone would convey the news to Cameron. Damn it, he even guessed who. Apart from him, only one person from the whole hospital still kept in contact with her – Wilson. Apparently, his friend had let it slip to Cameron, maybe without any second thoughts, chatter-box that he was, but she was perceptive enough to put two and two together.

"Technically I didn't do anything. If they can't pull it off, they're just not that good together as they pretend to be."

He knew for sure, even as he was saying these words, that it wouldn't help. For once, he had no back-up plan - Cameron was never supposed to know.

"You can't put people through crush tests to see if they break or not, House. It hurts - that I know."

That was definitely just like the time in this very office several years ago, or just like the time when she had first resigned: going down, with no power to stop it – back then, as soon as she had uttered the first sentences, he had known that no argument would change a thing.

The same sickening feeling was suffocating him now: he could try delivering a proper comeback, but he felt Cameron wasn't done yet. So he just waited. As always.

"I'm tired." Instead of expected anger, there was weariness in her voice, and he couldn't say whether he liked it better, or not. Anger was messy to deal with, but it tended to wear off quickly enough. He had no clue how to fix the weariness – usually it meant that every emotion had already burned out.

Cameron said, echoing his thoughts:

"Really tired. I let myself believe that you started seeing people as more than just toys to play with. I'm not defending Chase, I don't know why he kept me as his medical proxy, but it's his choice... I respect it, I just thought… you'd respect me enough to listen to me and leave him alone. Did you have to push them?"

"I didn't set up to split the golden couple, just wanted Chase to get his shit straight."

"But you ruined them along the way. Just like…."

"Know what, let's skip "you ruined Chase and our marriage part", it's getting old. It was his choice to stay ,it was your choice to leave and divorce him, not mine."

Damn it, the evening certainly was not supposed to go this way: him pushing her back, hurting her, just because she caught him off guard.

"Why do you keep doing this?"

"That's who I am, I thought you were past the point of having any illusions about it."

"No, that's who you've become, but that's not … at least that's not who you used to be. The way you were, in the beginning, I never wanted to change it, just to... never mind. But back when you were you, I don't regret that time. So please, House, for once just answer. Why did you do this?"

He could feel that this time his answer would matter. Cameron was waiting for it, while back when she had been leaving one last time, she hadn't. Now she trusted him to explain, at least hoped that he would. The ball was in his court, and he was damn sure, that should he screw it, she'd leave again.

He was furious: at her for finding out, at Wilson, at Chase, and for a tiny fraction of a second - at himself for driving them both into this deadlock once again. Since what was happening now reminded him too much of their old routine – her getting under his skin with her words before going away, and him being suddenly unable to respond. He fought the urge to smack his cane on something.

"'Cos I wanted to help you, damn it! You being you, would … You'd get hurt. Maybe rationally you even knew it, but you wouldn't let yourself walk away." He wondered whether to continue or not, but it was worth a shot. "Unless someone dragged you away that is."

He felt exposed - a reason why in the moments like this he had never gone beyond some casual banter with her or sarcastic comments.

"You don't need to be so much of a martyr, Cameron. Stop repenting for the mistakes that aren't yours."

"Why do you have to meddle?"

He rubbed his forehand with his palm. He had to admit a reason to her and to himself for that matter:

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I…" He felt that she was hesitating, he might have just got to her, but the situation was still too much for her to take: it brought about too many memories, her eternal moral dilemmas and undying need to help. "I'll call you later, House."

Cameron ended the call before he had a chance to say something.

He wondered whether she meant her last words, or whether that last channel of their weird connection had just been cut.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

'Everybody lies' – that had long become an axiomatic statement rather than an assumption, the one and the only postulate that life invariably proved right. No matter what useless excuses or noble motives people made up to justify themselves, the fact remained - they did lie. House never failed to remember it. Until now.

Somehow he had forgotten that Cameron was no exception to the rule, the only difference was that she had always preferred to lie to herself. Hell, he had been the one to rub the fact in her face on numerous occasions. Which is why it was especially frustrating that he hadn't discerned a self-delusion in her "_I'll call you later, House."_

It had been three weeks, and she still hadn't. House had thought about trying to reach her, yet every time dismissed the idea – it would mean admitting a mistake, while he still believed that he had been right. After another two weeks he became irritated. Started lashing out at Chase and Thirteen, because, clearly everything that had happened was their fault and no one else's. Though venting on them was satisfying, he was perfectly aware that he once again was treating the symptom rather than the illness.

The situation hadn't bothered him, or so he had told himself at first. Cameron and he had never set dates or a time for talking before, it just happened. Spontaneously, at varying intervals – a day, a week, four days. If it was a melody, the pace would seem utterly erratic. Rationally he knew that a pause was expectable: apparently, Cameron needed more time to get over whatever moral battle she was fighting with herself. A wise course of action would be to wait and see what it all would come down to. Yet he had never played wise, so there was no reason to start doing it now. Put another way, House didn't trust Cameron to reach her own conclusions, knowing all too well that he wouldn't like them.

However reluctant he was to admit it, however uncomfortable it made him feel, the fact remained – he missed her and didn't want that weird thing between them to end just yet. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he needed to do something to bring everything back to the way it used to be. It took a genius like him, however, to come up a solution. It also took Wilson's credit card, some Internet surfing and a few phone calls to arrange everything. No more deliberate and tricky schemes, he had an inking that Cameron had had enough. No declarations or cheesy Wilson-like tricks – there was no need to start lying about who he was. Actually, his idea was kind of lame, but Cameron used to like lame once.

* * *

A week later, seeing the familiar code-name on the screen, House involuntary heaved a sigh of relief. His plan worked, and surely the satisfaction of being right was the one and the only reason why he suddenly felt at ease, for the first time in a few weeks. He waited a bit before picking up, and if anyone asked him, he would swear that it had everything to do with a desire to get a payback for the silent treatment Cameron had been giving him, and nothing with a sudden hesitation, brought on by a treacherous thought that lame might not work for her any longer. He would swear up and down, thereby reaffirming the fact that everybody lied.

"You know," Cameron's voice was guarded, but amused none the less. "I can buy my own coffee. Or brew it…"

"The latter is dubious, unless you want to get food poisoning, of course." He suspected that Wilson might soon wonder why he was billed for the daily delivery of Frappuccinos to a certain office at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. House made a note to himself to come up with a cover-story later. "Took you long enough to figure out."

"Two days, in fact." However, she called after five – the true message of her words wasn't lost on him. "How did you find a Charlie Brown cup sleeve?" Curiosity was getting the best of Cameron, and he would bet that there was a faint smile on her lips.

"If I said, I'd have to kill you."

"I just hope it didn't cost Wilson too much."

"Since when are you a psychic?"

Playing pretend, sidestepping the problem was easy, House had perfected the moves long ago. It worked almost every time, even with Wilson and Cuddy. Today was different though: for all his efforts to ignore it, he still couldn't get rid of that nagging need to clear things up between him and Cameron.

"Still mad?"

He meant to make it sound as a casual, routine question, but his own voice didn't quite play along: it shouldn't have sounded that serious and almost tentative, and yet it did.

"I wasn't."

"Liar."

"I wasn't mad at you. Or…" Cameron stopped, making him wonder where that moral compass of hers had led her this time – they could have drifted too far apart to regain some balance, or meet half-way. She continued: "Not only at you."

"Then who's the other scapegoat?"

"Me."

How did she manage to do this? Many things, many explanations seemed to fit her, but he had yet to find the one that would actually stick. He could and maybe even would interpret her words in a hundred ways possible, but he already suspected that none of his answers would fully capture the essence of her. A fleeting thought entered his mind that he had never considered believing in those answers that she herself had been giving to him. A good puzzle never solved itself, or did it?

Cameron whispered:

"I can't stay mad at you for long." Then she added as quietly, as humanly possible: "that scares me."

Fear worked both ways, yet she didn't need to know it. Come to think of it, 'fear' might be too much of the word, while 'alarming' would certainly suffice.

House tiredly closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa, grateful for the sanctuary of his apartment - no one was around to see him. There had been times when an imaginary alarm would ring in his head, warning him, awakening him to reality where he would find himself short of crossing the safety lines and letting Cameron crawl under his skin. House would back away, put distance between them, fearing to acknowledge that Cameron's reaction mattered, that her disappointment, hurt and devastation hit him harder than he was ready to admit.

As a litmus paper turning red in acid, her words brought on a realization - he didn't want to give her a new reason to get mad, and upon this an alarm started roaring again. He had no idea what to do with it, though. He didn't want to push Cameron away one more time, but the truth he was going to say just might.

"I can't say I'm sorry about the Chase thing. I'd do it again, in fact."

"I know."

Cameron's quiet voice was void of any reproach. Instead, there was a hint of another emotion - Acceptance. The only one he hadn't expected from her and looked for elsewhere. After all, it had been logically impossible that Cameron with her persistent need to fix everything would have accepted him as he was. Or hadn't? After all, logically, after knowing him for twenty something years, Cuddy should have known better than try to change him, yet she had obstinately carried on her futile and tiring attempt.

Though he would never say that he was sorry, House suddenly felt an urge to let Cameron know:

"But… I never intended it to get ugly."

"Funny thing is," it could have been a dramatic pause with anyone else, but House knew that for Cameron it was anything but. Probably she was debating with herself whether to continue or not. She did, eventually: "I know that too. That's why it's difficult… to stay mad."

Her words stirred something long forgotten. House couldn't quite name it, but it was not an unpleasant sensation, rather strangely comforting, relieving even. Yet, as any novelty, this feeling immediately started worrying him, since it made him feel exposed and absolutely unprepared for anything that might happen next.

"One would think," her tone was suddenly teasing, and House guessed right away that she was trying to steer the conversation away from getting too serious. Obviously, she needed a distraction as much as he did. Cameron continued: "that you have a secret crush on Chase: ruining all his relationships and all…"

"What can I say, his hair just does it for me."

"I suspected that much."

"Good, now let's skip the part where you're getting jealous and move straight to make-up sex."

Cameron laughed, and that's when he knew they were back to where they used to be.

* * *

Days like this made Cameron feel lonely and unfulfilled for they would always taunt her with visions of what she could have had, had everything played out differently.

The first time it happened, it had been painful, albeit not devastating. Six months after her husband's death, she had been invited to a friend's wedding. She was happy for the newlyweds, but a tinge of regret and, selfish as it may seem, some envy for the bride had been nagging her the entire evening. She had wanted her husband to be alive, sitting with her at the wedding reception, lacing his fingers through hers. Small part of her had even wished Joe was still a friend, and not an almost committed transgression.

With passing years it had become easier to survive these sudden reminders of what might have been.

Cameron had lost it only once - when they had had a case with a suspected epidemic among children in the hospital. Seeing a dying infant had stricken her then, just like seeing a happy mother and her child being discharged, accompanied by a beaming husband with balloons and flowers. She had dreamed of those ridiculous balloons that night. Not a happy dream, not even a bittersweet one, rather the one that had trapped her in the past, draining from within. Every happy moment that would flare through her mind would momentarily get buried under the weight of regrets, loneliness and guilt.

When she had married Robert, she secretly hoped that there would be no more of these days for her. There had been none – for the five short months they actually lived together as husband and wife. After her divorce the days came back with a vengeance and became devastating as well as painful.

Cameron didn't want a new serious relationship, fearing that it would end up in yet another disaster. She found substitutes – her work, her patients, her family: mom, dad, brother and a niece. Occasional concessions to her mother who sometimes tried to set her up with "reliable" guys – no harm done, since Cameron was careful not to let them get too close.

That was enough.

Until yet a day like this would happen to her. Until she'd crave… a connection.

Today at the christening of the Dean's grandson, she felt it again – a striving for a life that would consist of more than just work, for a life that she could've had by now, had her marriage with Robert survived. Or had she been wise – or hypocritical – enough not to abandon her back-up plan right after Robert and she returned from their honeymoon.

"_I have doubts, normal doubts… It's not wrong to prepare for things to happen even if you don't expect them to. I don't expect my condo to burn __out__ buying fire insurance."  
"Your condo rules don't let you buy insurance, would you go homeless?"  
_

Cameron had to admit that House had been right while giving this advice; logical reasoning was his strong suit, most of the time at least. But he hadn't thought of what might happen, should a condo burn down with no fire insurance whatsoever. She hadn't either, trying to prove to herself how serious she was about her marriage. It had seemed a good idea at the time, especially with the prospect of them working for House again looming on the horizon. And that's how she ended up both homeless and unprotected.

Cameron mentally slapped herself for indulging in self-pity. It was neither time, nor place.

She felt a sudden overpowering urge to leave, to get her mind off the memories she usually preferred to ignore. One of the benefits of having doctors as acquaintances was that they'd always understand a sudden page from the hospital. They didn't need to know that it was non-existent at that point. After all, once she arrived at the hospital, she would surely find more than enough urgent matters to take care of.

A few hours later, entering her office after examining her latest patient, Cameron noticed a cup of coffee on her desk. The fifth this week. She carefully took it, looking for a note, printed or written down by the delivery man, but just like the four times before, found nothing. Not that she needed a note to guess who the sender was, but a hint, anything to indicate what he wanted, would help. Actually, she knew what it was about: House was trying to get over that rift in their friendship? Companionship? Pass-time? Whatever. She had never wanted to give a definition to their unexpected connection. A definition wouldn't make it more real, but it would surely complicate things.

Cameron took a sip of the delightful liquid. There was another reason she didn't want to look for a definition – if she tried, she might have to admit that House was still a part of her life, that she still cared more than she should and certainly more than he needed her to. Stupid, really, pathetic, dangerous, irrational… but she didn't regret it.

Her initial reaction over House's latest mind game with Chase and Thirteen had been overwhelming, as a stinging sense of déjà-vu clouded her mind, bringing back in full force the memory of her own relationship with Robert crumbling as a collateral damage in one of these games. After a while, however, a tiny voice in her head started whispering that just like with her failed marriage, House couldn't and shouldn't be the only one to blame.

Maybe it was because it had been an emotional day, but she didn't even register how her hand reached for the phone and dialed his number.

"You know, I can buy my own coffee. Or brew it…"


End file.
